IT 

i. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

JIM  TULLY 

GIFT  OF 
MRS.  JIM  TULLY 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 


By  JOHN  T.  PARIS 

SEEING  THE  FAR  WEST 

113  illustrations  and  2  maps.     Octavo. 
A  wonderful  panorama  in  text  and  illustrations  of  the  scenic 
glories  from  the  Rockies  to  the  Pacific. 

SEEING  PENNSYLVANIA 

Frontispiece  in  color,  113  illustrations  in  doublctone  and  2  maps. 

Octavo. 

A  rare  and  fascinating  guide  to  an  American  wonderland 
which  all  Americans  should  know. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  OLD  PHILADELPHIA 

Frontispiece  in  color  and   101  illustrations  in  doubletone. 

Decorated  cloth.     Octavo. 

"A  narrative  sometimes  purely  romantic,  sometimes  epic, 
but  always  finely  human  .  .  .  particularly  inciting  Americans 
to  a  broader  patriotism." — Boston  Transcript. 

OLD  ROADS  OUT  OF  PHILADELPHIA 

1 17  illustrations  and  a  map.     Decorated  cloth. 

Octavo. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  find  anywhere  in  America  roads 
richer  in  historical  interest! .  .  .  and  John  T.  Faris  has  told  the 
story  of  them  well." — New  York  Times. 

By  THEODOOR  DE  BOOY 
and  JOHN  T.  FARIS 

THE  VIRGIN  ISLANDS 

OUR  NEW  POSSESSIONS  AND 

THE  BRITISH  ISLANDS 

97  illustrations  and  five  maps  especially  prepared  for 
this  work.     Octavo. 

"A  new  and  wonderfully  entertaining  book  of  travel .  .  . 
an  ideal  book — would  there  were  many  more  'just  as  good.' " 

— Travel. 

IN  PREPARATION 

Uniform  with  this  volume 

SEEING  THE  EASTERN  STATES 
SEEING  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 


SEEING  THE 
SUNNY  SOUTH 

BY 

JOHN  T.  FARIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "SEEING  PENNSYLVANIA,"  "SEEING  THE  FAR  WEST,"  ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOR 
AND  115  DOUBLETONE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PHILADELPHIA  AND  LONDON 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,   IQ2I,  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON   SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA,  U.  8.  A. 


FOREWORD 

WE  have  not  yet  waked  up  to  the  realization 
of  the  tremendous  asset  the  South  is  to  the 
United  States.    In  a  vague  sort  of  way,  of 
course,  the  average  man  realizes  that  the  territory 
below  the  Mason  and  Dixon  Line  is  wonderful.    But 
how  wonderful? 

The  South  is  wonderful  in  area.  One-third  of  the 
territory  of  the  country  is  included  in  the  South,  and 
the  states  in  this  area  have  three-fifths  of  the  coast  line 
of  the  United  States. 

The  South  is  wonderful  in  resources.  It  has  been 
calculated  that  one-fourth  of  the  country's  coal,  one- 
third  of  the  iron  ore  and  seven-tenths  of  the  forested 
area  are  there.  Over  half  the  timber  production  of  the 
country  and  all  but  the  least  bit  of  the  cotton  grown 
are  credited  to  it.  In  water  power  it  is  rich ;  its  phos- 
phate rocks  furnish  practically  the  country's  sole 
supply  of  a  product  all-important  to  the  agriculturist; 
its  petroleum  and  natural-gas  wells  are  the  wonder  of 
the  world ;  in  the  production  of  aluminum  and  graphite, 
fuller's  earth  and  sulphur,  as  well  as  a  number  of  other 
essentials,  it  stands  almost  alone.  Peanuts  and  cane 
sugar,  sweet  potatoes  and  rice,  spring  vegetables  and 
sorghum,  peaches  and  citrus  fruits  are  among  its  claims 
to  the  attention  of  those  who  need  to  fill  the  market 
basket.  One  of  the  country's  leading  chemists  said,  in 
an  address  delivered  in  1919:  "No  one  with  a  capacity 

3 


8177S2 


FOREWORD 

to  understand  their  true  significance  can  review  the  co- 
lossal figures  which  set  forth  the  natural  resources  of 
the  South  without  first  being  stunned  and  overwhelmed, 
and  soon  thereafter  filled  with  the  vision  of  their  stu- 
pendous possibilities." 

The  South  is  wonderful  in  climate.  Both  in  sum- 
mer and  in  winter  may  one  find  sections  of  it  delightf  ul, 
and  in  winter  even  California  must  take  off  its  hat  to 
Florida  and  the  Gulf  Coast.  One  who  discovered  by 
thorough-going  experience  the  climatic  advantages  of 
Florida  said,  ''The  only  difficulty  with  Florida  is  that 
there  is  only  one  of  it,  and  in  the  future  years  it  will 
be  so  overcrowded  that  there  will  not  be  room  enough 
for  the  people  who  will  want  to  flock  there."  But  let 
these  people  take  comfort — Georgia  and  Alabama, 
Louisiana  and  Texas,  as  well  as  states  still  farther 
north,  have  weather  revelations  that  will  surprise 
the  visitor. 

Natural  resources  and  climate  should  satisfy  any 
reasonable  country.  But  the  South  does  not  need  to 
rest  content  with  these  possessions.  For  that  favored 
region  is  rich  also  in  scenery  that  is  amazingly  varied 
and  attractive — mountains  that  reach  the  clouds; 
rivers  that  leap  and  foam  as  well  as  rivers  that  pursue 
their  way  in  placid  unconcern ;  lakes  and  springs,  bays 
and  islands,  forests  and  valleys.  It  is  almost  easier 
to  give  a  catalogue  of  what  is  not  to  be  found  there 
than  of  what  may  be  seen  by  anyone  with  open  eyes. 

And  what  abundant  ways  there  are  to  see  the  won- 
ders of  this  enchanted  land!  Everywhere  there  are 
railroads — the  well-known  through  lines,  as  well  as 
short  lines  that  pierce  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  glide 
along  by  the  rivers,  or  cross  the  uplands.  There  is 
4 


FOREWORD 

abundant  variety  for  those  who  would  travel  by  rail, 
and  fortunate  is  the  traveler  who  can  wander  first 
along  one  line,  and  then  can  choose  another  and  an- 
other and  yet  another.  He  may  take  so  many  of  them 
that  he  will  be  apt  to  think  he  has  really  seen  the 
Sunny  South  by  rail.  He'll  find  his  error  when  he 
makes  a  study  of  the  roads  he  hasn't  been  able  to  take. 

But  somehow  the  visions  afforded  by  the  railroad 
do  not  always  satisfy ;  the  traveler  wants  to  go  far  from 
the  right  of  way  where,  as  one  nature-lover  has  pointed 
out,  the  black  clouds  of  smoke  from  the  freight  engines 
have  destroyed  many  fine  areas  of  woodland,  noxious 
gases  have  interfered  with  the  beauty  of  the  shrubbery, 
and  even  the  washing  down  of  the  acids  from  the  smoke- 
laden  air  to  the  roots  of  the  plants  has  had  its  effect 
on  the  foliage  near  the  rails. 

For  all  this  the  railroad  is  dependable,  and  the 
traveler  through  the  South  clings  to  it.  But  it  is  so 
set  in  its  ways.  It  says  so  positively : ' '  This  is  the  way 
you  shall  go.  No,  you  cannot  stop  and  pick  flowers; 
you  must  not  pause  a  moment  to  look  at  the  other  side 
of  that  attractive  house ;  you  must  not  presume  to  do 
anything  that  the  time-table  does  not  permit. " 

"What  a  contrast  the  automobile  is!  It  is  so  easy- 
going. You  can  see  up,  down,  and  around,  and  not 
simply  through  a  narrow  window.  If  the  mood  takes 
you,  you  can  go  up  a  side  road.  You  can  loiter  or  you 
can  hurry  on.  You  can  see  a  house,  a  tree,  an  orchard, 
a  garden  or  anything  you  want.  The  car  is  so  human. 

Yes,  it  is  good  to  take  the  automobile.  But  it  is  fine 
to  have  the  railroad  at  hand — especially  in  places 
where  no  one  has  yet  seen  fit  to  make  a  dependable 
road,  or  where  such  a  road  cannot  well  be  made,  or 

5 


FOREWORD 

where  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  cover  more  territory 
in  a  given  time  than  can  be  done  with  the  car. 

Some  tourists  try  to  combine  the  car  and  the  rail- 
road on  the  same  trip.  ' 'I '11  take  the  car,  and  when  the 
roads  get  too  bad,  I'll  leave  it  in  a  garage,  or  ship  it 
ahead,  then  use  the  train,"  somebody  says  when  set- 
ting out  from  home.  But  the  result  is  usually  to  keep 
to  the  car,  no  matter  what  the  roads. 

The  author  is  indebted  to  many  courteous  friends 
who  have  helped  him  carry  out  his  delightful  program 
of  Seeing  the  Sunny  South,  especially  to  Rev.  William 
F.  Klein,  of  Beading,  Pennsylvania,  in  whose  company 
the  pilgrimage  through  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  over 
to  Luray  Caverns,  and  down  to  the  National  Bridge 
was  made. 

J.  T.  F. 
PHILADELPHIA,  April,  1921 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 17 

II.    ALONG  MARYLAND'S  VALLEY  OF  DREAMS 34 

HI.    THE  EASTERN  SHORE  AND  THE  CHESAPEAKE.     42 

IV.    UP  THE  WINDING  JAMES 50 

V.    THROUGH  THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA. .     60 

VI.    THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 68 

VII.    THE  VARIED  CAROLINA  COAST  COUNTRY 84 

VIII.    WHERE  FLOWS  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE 93 

IX.    ALONG  THE  SAVANNAH  RIVER 101 

X.    IN  THE  HEART  OF  GEORGIA 108 

XL    IN  GEORGIA'S  LAND  OF  WONDERS 114 

XII.    FROM  JACKSONVILLE  TO  ST.  AUGUSTINE 120 

XIII.  ON  FLORIDA'S  HALIFAX  RIVER 128 

XIV.  TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 134 

XV.    MIAMI,  THE  MAGIC  CITY 142 

XVI.  IN  THE  FLORIDA  EVERGLADES 148 

XVII.  WITH  ROD  AND  GUN  IN  FLORIDA  WATERS  ....  151 

XVIII.  ON  THE  WEST  COAST  OF  FLORIDA 156 

XIX.  IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  FLORIDA 162 

XX.  IN  WEST  FLORIDA 168 

XXI.  ROUND  ABOUT  MOBILE 175 

XXII.  UP  NORTH  AND  DOWN  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA  ...  183 

XXIII.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  BIRMINGHAM'S  RED 

MOUNTAIN 194 

XXIV.  THROUGH  TENNESSEE  AND  NORTH  ALABAMA 

BY  RIVER 201 

XXV.    GLIMPSES  OF  FERTILE  MISSISSIPPI 221 

7 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAQB 

XXVI.    TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 228 

XXVII.    IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 242 

XXVHL    DOWN  IN  ARKANSAS 255 

XXIX.    IN  AND  OUT  OF  LOUISVILLE. 261 

XXX.    DOWN  THROUGH  THE  BLUE  GRASS 267 

XXXI.    AMONG  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 274 

XXXII.    FOLLOWING  WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RUSHING  RIVERS  278 

XXXIII.    ROMANCE  ON  AN  ISLAND 293 

XXXTV.    IN  THE  PANHANDLE  OF  WEST  VIRGINIA..        .  299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  Oldest  House  in  St.  Augustine,  Florida Frontispiece 

From  a  painting  by  Edward  Stratton  Holloway 

In  the  Cathedral,  Luray  Caverns,  Virginia 26 

From  a  photo,  copyright,  by  J.  D.  Strickler 

Natural  Bridge,  Virginia 27 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

On  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal 38 

Photo  from  Robert  Bruce,  Clinton,  New  York. 

Harper's  Ferry,  Virginia 39 

Photo  from  Eugene  J.  Hall,  Oak  Park,  Illinois. 

Along  Chesapeake  Bay 77. '..". 42 

Main  and  Grant  Streets,  Norfolk,  Virginia 43 

Photo  by  Acme  Photo  Co.,  Norfolk. 
Mount  Vernon,  Virginia 46 

Photo  from'  H.  P.  Cook,  Richmond,  Virginia. 

The  United  States  Capitol  at  Washington,  D.  C 47 

Photo  from  Eugene  J.  Hall. 

In  the  Heart  of  Baltimore,  Maryland 48 

Photo  by  Frederick  F.  Frittita,  Baltimore. 

A  Chesapeake  Beacon 49 

Wind-Blown  Chesapeake  Sands 49 

Chief  Justice  Marshall's  Home,  Richmond,  Virginia 52 

Photo  from  H.  P.  Cook. 

The  Old  Court  House  at  Williamsburg,  Virginia 52 

Photo  from  H.  P.  Cook. 

James  River  and  Commonwealth  Hill,  Virginia 53 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Monticello,  near  Charlottesville,  Virginia 56 

Photo  from  H.  P.  Cook. 

Three  Sisters  Mountains,  Virginia 56 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

"The  Old  Cabin  Home" 62 

Razor  Back  Hogs  in  North  Carolina 62 

"Green  Slopes  and  Pleasant  Valleys" 63 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Timber  on  the  East  Slope  of  Hughes  Ridge,  North  Carolina 70 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

9 


10  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAQB 

On  the  French  Broad  River,  North  Carolina 78 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Speedwell  Valley,  North  Carolina 78 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Chimney  Rock,  North  Carolina 79 

Photo  by  H.  W.  Pelton. 

Devil's  Head,  North  Carolina 79 

Photo,  copyright,  by  H.  W.  Pelton 

Pack  Square,  Asheville,  North  Carolina 82 

Photo  by  H.  W.  Pelton. 

Richland  Valley,  North  Carolina 83 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Cypress  Trees,  Lake  Drummond,  Virginia 84 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Southern  Margin  of  Lake  Drummond,  Virginia 84 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Fort  Sumter,  Charleston,  South  Carolina 90 

Photo  from  Southern  Railway. 

Entrance  to  the  Devereux  Home,  Charleston,  South  Carolina 90 

Photo  from  Southern  Railway. 

St.  Michael's  Church,  Charleston,  South  Carolina 91 

St.  Philip's  Church,  Charleston,  South  Carolina 91 

Photo  from  Southern  Railway. 

The  Battery,  Charleston,  South  Carolina 92 

Photo  by  Clarke,  Charleston. 

Chattooga  River  2  Georgia 94 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Tallulah  Falls,  Georgia 95 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

In  the  Heart  of  Atlanta,  Georgia 98 

Photo  by  Francis  F.  Price. 

Stone  Mountain,  Georgia 99 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

The  Independent  Presbyterian  Church,  Savannah,  Georgia 106 

Photo  from  Hoffman's  Art  Studios,  Savannah. 

On  the  Turpentine  Docks,  Savannah,  Georgia 107 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

The  Home  of  Sidney  Lanier,  Macon,  Georgia 110 

Photo  from  Macon  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

Negro  Cabin  at  a  Georgia  Turpentine  Still 110 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Along  a  Country  Road  in  Georgia Ill 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Chase  Prairie,  Okefinokee  Swamp,  Georgia 116 

Photo  by  Francis  Harper;   by  courtesy  of  American  Museum  of  Natural 
History,  New  York. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  11 

PAGB 

Hotel  Ponce  de  Leon,  St.  Augustine,  Florida 124 

"The  Oldest  House"  in  St.  Augustine,  Florida 125 

Within  the  Walls  of  Fort  Marion,  St.  Augustine,  Florida 126 

The  Old  City  Gates,  St.  Augustine,  Florida 126 

Daytona  Beach,  Florida 130 

Photo  from  Daytona  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

New  Smyrna  Drive,  Florida 131 

Ruins  of  Old  Sugar  Mill,  near  Daytona,  Florida 132 

On  the  Halifax  River,  Florida 132 

Glimpse  of  the  Royal  Poinciana  Hotel,  Palm  Beach,  Florida 136 

Photo  from  "Winter  Journeys  in  the  South,"  by  courtesy  of  John  Martin 
Hammond. 

Golf  Links,  on  the  Shore  of  Lake  Worth,  Palm  Beach,  Florida 137 

Overseas  to  Key  West,  Florida 140 

Photo  from  Florida  East  Coast  Railroad. 

A  Key  West  Residence  District 140 

Photo  from  Florida  East  Coast  Railroad 

Miami,  Florida,  from  the  Air 142 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison,  Miami. 

On  the  Beach,  near  Miami,  Florida 143 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

At  Cocoanut  Grove,  Florida 146 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

Arch  Spring  Natural  Bridge,  near  Miami,  Florida 146 

Seminole  Indians  in  the  Everglades 148 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

In  the  Everglades 148 

Road  Building  Across  the  Everglades 149 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

Drainage  Canals  in  the  Everglades 149 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

On  Miami  River,  Florida 152 

Their  Day's  Catch 152 

Photo  by  R.  W.  Harrison. 

On  Bayshore  Drive,  Tampa,  Florida 156 

Photo  from  Chamber  of  Commerce,  Tampa. 

In  Plant  Park,  Tampa,  Florida 156 

Photo  from  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

On  the  Picturesque  Tomoka  River,  Florida 166 

The  Sprawling  Mangrove  Trees,  Florida 166 

Mailboat  on  Garnier's  Bayou,  Florida  National  Forest 170 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 


12  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAOB 
Santa  Rosa  Island,  Florida  National  Forest 170 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Lower  Government  Street,  Mobile,  Alabama 180 

Photo  from  Mobile  and  Ohio  Railroad. 

St.  Stephens  Bluff  (Hobuckintopa) 181 

Photoifrom  B.  S.  Hodges  and  Eugene  A.  Smith,  Geological  Survey  of  Alabama. 

Old  St.  Stephens  Street  Scene,  Alabama 181 

Photo  from  B.  8.  Hodges  and  Eugene  A.  Smith. 

Confederate   Soldiers'  Monument  and  State  Capitol,    Montgomery, 

Alabama 190 

Photo  from  Eugene  J.  Hall. 

Tallassee  Falls,  Alabama 190 

Loading  Cotton  Bales  on  Alabama  River  Steamer 191 

Crescent  Avenue,  Birmingham,  Alabama 198 

Photo  from  Louisville  and  Nashville  Railroad. 

First  Avenue,  Birmingham,  Alabama 198 

Photo  from  Louisville  and  Nashville  Railroad. 

Court  House,  Memphis,  Tennessee 202 

Crest  Road  along  Missionary  Ridge,  Chattanooga,  Tennessee 202 

Photo  from  Chattanooga  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

View  Towards  Chattanooga,  Tennessee,  from  Signal  Mountain 214 

Photo  from  Chattanooga  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

Doe  River  Valley,  Tennessee 215 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

A  Mississippi  Cotton  Field 222 

Gathering  Sugar  Cane  in  Mississippi 223 

Photo  from  United  States  Department  of  Agriculture. 

Going  to  Mill 223 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Jackson  Square,  New  Orleans,  Louisiana 232 

Three  Oaks  Mansion,  Chalmette,  New  Orleans 232 

Photo  by  Stanley  Clisby  Arthur. 

On  Canal  Street,  New  Orleans,  Louisiana 233 

Photo  from  Conventional  Tourist  Bureau.  New  Orleans. 

Oakley  Plantation,  Louisiana 238 

Photo  by  Stanley  Clisby  Arthur. 

The  Duelling  Oaks,  New  Orleans,  Louisiana 238 

Red  River,  near  Carolina  Bluff,  Louisiana 240 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Shreveport,  Louisiana,  on  Christmas  Morning 241 

A  Portion  of  Galveston's  Great  Sea  Wall 246 

Photo  from  Chamber  of  Commerce,  Galveston. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  13 

PAGE 

The  Alamo,  San  Antonio,  Texas 247 

Photo  from  Archer's  Art  Shop,  San  Antonio. 

View  of  Part  of  Fort  Worth,  Texas 250 

Photo  from  Chamber  of  Commerce,  Fort  Worth 

Mouth  of  Big  Paint,  in  Kimble  County,  Texas 262 

North  Peak,  Chisos  Mountains,  Texas 262 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Houston  Square,  El  Paso,  Texas 253 

Photo  from  Chamber  of  Commerce,  El  Paso. 

Looking  Down  Buffalo  River  Valley,  Arkansas 258 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Little  Missouri  Falls,  Arkansas 258 

Photo  from  United  States  Forest  Service. 

Hot  Springs,  Arkansas 259 

Photo  by  T.  H.  Upton,  from  Missouri  Pacific  Railway. 

Fourth  Avenue,  Louisville,  Kentucky 262 

Photo  by  Canfield  and  Shook. 

In  Colossal  Cavern,  Kentucky 263 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Lexington,  Kentucky,  on  Court  Day 270 

Photo  by  R.  L.  McClure,  Lexington. 

Frankfort,  Kentucky 271 

Photo  by  Gretter's  Studio. 

Valley  Falls,  Tygart's  River,  West  Virginia 286 

On  New  River,  West  Virginia 286 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

Sandstone  Cliff,  above  Nuttall,  New  River,  West  Virginia 287 

Photo  from  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

A  Coal  Mine  Town  at  Fireco,  West  Virginia 290 

A  Bit  of  Wheeling,  West  Virginia 302 

Copyright  by  W.  T.  Nichol,  Wheeling. 

Cedar  Rocks,  on  Wheeling  Creek,  West  Virginia 303 

Table  Rock,  Ohio  County,  West  Virginia 303 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 
(FROM  HARPER'S  FERRY  TO  LEXINGTON) 

THE  pilgrims  were  on  their  way  to  Harper's 
Ferry,  that  tremendous  gap  in  the  Blue  Ridge 
where  the  Potomac  and  the  Shenandoah  meet 
in  majesty.  One  of  them  had  been  telling  of  a  morass 
in  an  Oregon  road  that  made  necessary  a  detour  of 
twenty-two  miles.  His  companions,  too  polite  to  voice 
much  of  the  skepticism  they  felt,  called  attention  to  the 
splendid  vision  by  which  the  traveler  is  confronted  on 
approaching  Harper's  Ferry  from  the  east — the 
Potomac,  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal,  the  wooded 
heights  above  the  river. 

1 ' It's  only  a  mile  to  the  city  that  is  to  be  our  Gate- 
way to  the  South;  we'll  be  at  the  dinner  table  in  half 
an  hour,"  the  man  at  the  wheel  was  saying.  Then  a 
turn  in  the  road  disclosed  across  the  way  a  barricade 
bearing  the  distressing  word : 


I  DETOUR  I 

Efforts  to  persuade  the  construction  boss  to  let  the 
machine  through  were  fruitless.  "You'll  have  to  go 
round  the  mountain, ' '  he  said,  positively. 

"How  far  is  it?"  was  the  careless  question  of  the 
man  at  the  wheel. 

2  IT 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

* '  Oh,  a  matter  of  thirty  or  forty  miles ! ' '  came  the 
disconcerting  reply. 

It  was  unbelievable.  Harper's  Ferry  was  just 
ahead,  around  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain.  Surely 
there  was  a  shorter  way  to  the  city  which  John  Brown 
made  famous ! 

4 '  All  right !  Let 's  have  a  little  more  of  Maryland ! ' ' 
The  cheerful  voice  of  the  man  at  the  wheel  reminded  his 
companions  that  there  was  something  better  even  than 
dinner,  at  the  close  of  a  long  day  on  the  road.  "I  was 
just  thinking  we  ought  not  to  turn  our  backs  so  soon 
on  a  state  that  can  furnish  such  inspiring  views  as 
that  we  had  on  the  road  from  Hagerstown.  Remember 
that  ridge  five  miles  before  we  reached  Frederick,  with 
the  wide  panorama  of  the  fertile  valley  I  And  the  road 
from  Frederick  down  here  has  been  so  pleasing.  I 
really  believe  I  like  the  idea  of  the  detour. ' ' 

And  the  entire  party  agreed  with  him  when,  after 
leaving  the  valley  at  Treverton,  they  turned  north- 
ward. The  roads  were  not  all  smooth,  but  the  country 
above  the  Potomac,  toward  the  Pennsylvania  line,  was 
so  inviting  that  a  highway  that  forbade  rapid  travel 
was  not  unwelcome. 

"What  state  are  we  in  now?"  asked  the  man  at  the 
wheel.  "There  are  so  many  state  lines  in  the  neigh- 
borhood that  I  always  feel  uncertain." 

The  others  also  were  uncertain,  so  a  study  of  the 
curious  map  of  the  region  became  necessary — a  region 
where  West  Virginia,  Pennsylvania,  Maryland  and 
Virginia  come  together  like  the  parts  of  a  child's 
picture  puzzle. 

"Glad  I  don't  have  to  take  them  apart;  I  could  not 
get  them  together  again,"  was  the  remark  that  greeted 

18 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

the  appearance  of  the  map.  "Why,  if  you  could  travel 
along  a  straight  line  drawn  through  Harper's  Ferry 
at  just  the  right  angle,  you  would  pass  from  Mary- 
land successively  into  Virginia,  "West  Virginia,  Vir- 
ginia, West  Virginia,  Maryland,  West  Virginia,  Penn- 
sylvania, West  Virginia  and  Ohio — crossing  nine  state 
lines  in  little  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles ! ' ' 

Some  of  these  odd  corners  of  Virginia,  West  Vir- 
ginia and  Maryland  were,  during  the  Civil  War,  the 
scene  of  marching  and  counter-marching,  of  fierce  en- 
gagements and  of  hardy  daring.  Along  the  route  of 
that  evening  detour  there  were  not  lacking  reminders 
of  those  days  of  struggle.  The  way  led  through 
Sharpsburg,  scene  of  the  battle  of  Antietam,  fought  in 
September,  1862,  between  the  forces  of  Lee  and  Mc- 
Clellan,  where  more  than  one-fourth  of  the  seventy-six 
thousand  men  engaged  were  either  killed  or  injured. 
At  one  side  of  the  main  road  which  leads  across  the 
battlefield  is  the  cemetery  where  lie  the  Confederate 
dead.  The  acres  over  which  the  contesting  armies 
moved  are  to-day  parts  of  fertile  farms,  but  here  and 
there  have  been  cut  through  them  cross-roads  that  lead 
to  spots  made  memorable  by  the  heroism  of  thousands. 

Then  comes  Shepherdstown  on  the  Potomac,  domi- 
nated by  the  monument  to  James  Eumsey,  who,  in 
1784,  in  the  presence  of  George  Washington,  suc- 
ceeded in  steaming  up  the  river  in  a  vessel  of 
his  own  construction. 

"The  statue  on  the  height  above  the  river  is  on 
what  they  call  James  Rumsey's  Walk,"  was  the  ex- 
planation of  a  fellow-traveler  on  the  bridge  across  the 
Potomac — a  bridge  where  the  charge  for  a  motor  is 
forty  cents.  "And  well  worth  the  price!"  agreed  the 

19 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

man  at  the  wheel  to  the  taker  of  toll.  He  was  thinking 
how  glad  he  would  have  been  of  a  bridge  at  the  right 
place  to  save  him  that  detour. 

At  length  the  way  was  clear  to  Harper's  Ferry — 
but  from  the  northwest  instead  of  from  the  east.  The 
road  through  the  town  is  decidedly  picturesque,  as 
should  be  the  approach  to  the  waters  that  move  in 
might  among  the  mountain  ridges. 

The  visitor  does  not  feel  that  he  is  really  in  Har- 
per's Ferry  until  he  stands  on  the  highway  bridge 
across  the  Potomac,  or  on  the  near-by  bridge  over  the 
Shenandoah  just  where  it  discharges  its  waters  into 
the  larger  stream;  until  he  passes  along  the  steep 
streets  or  up  the  rocky  footpath  to  Jefferson's  Rock, 
where  the  Sage  of  Monticello  sat  in  wonder,  looked  at 
the  Heights  of  Loudoun,  and  wrote  his  famous  descrip- 
tion of  "the  passage  of  the;  Potomac  through  the 
Blue  Ridge." 

Here,  in  1794,  Washington  secured  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  acres  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  two  rivers, 
as  the  first  land  for  the  National  Armory  which  John 
Brown,  in  his  honest  but  misguided  frenzy,  attacked  in 
1859.  And  from  here  Brown  was  led  on  to  Charles 
Town,  the  county  seat,  for  the  closing  chapter  in  his 
stormy  career. 

"Be  sure  to  put  two  capital  letters  in  the  name  of 
our  city,"  a  business  man  in  this  chief  town  of  Jeffer- 
son County  said  to  the  pilgrims.  "Don't  mix  us  up 
with  Charleston,  the  capital  of  West  Virginia.  Too 
many  people  do  that.  Just  last  month  a  carload  of 
goods  consigned  to  us  went  down  to  that  modern  town." 

He  was  asked  if  it  would  not  be  a  good  thing  to 
change  the  name  of  the  town  and  avoid  the  difficulty. 

20 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

"What!  Change  the  name  of  Charles  Town?"  he 
asked,  with  fine  indignation;  "the  town  where  history 
was  made,  where  there  are  still  standing  three  of  the 
homes  of  the  Washington  family,  including  Harewood, 
the  mansion  of  George  Washington,  where  Dorothy 
Todd  came  from  Philadelphia,  driving  in  Thomas 
Jefferson's  coach,  to  be  married  to  James  Madi- 
son in  the  presence  of  Light  Horse  Harry  Lee,  among 
other  guests ! 

"Change  the  name  of  our  town!"  he  concluded, 
scornfully.  "Let  Charleston  do  the  changing.  Our 
name  belongs  to  us ! " 

Mordington,  built  by  Charles  Washington  during 
the  closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  century — known  as 
Happy  Eetreat  in  the  days  of  George  Washington,  who 
was  a  guest  here  more  than  once — and  Claymont,  built 
in  1820  by  a  grandnephew  of  the  first  President,  are 
two  of  the  ancient  mansions  that  are  the  pride  of  the 
town  that  prefers  to  submit  to  inconvenience  rather 
than  change  its  historic  name. 

Charles  Town  is  well  within  the  wonderful  Shen- 
andoah  Valley,  or  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  one  of  the 
most  glorious  valleys  in  the  South — the  valley  that  was 
perhaps  one  of  the  most  famous  battlegrounds  of  the 
Civil  War.  To  retain  possession  of  it  was  of  greatest 
importance  to  the  South.  The  Army  of  Virginia  de- 
pended on  the  supplies  of  food  which  came  from  its 
fertile  upland  farms,  and  the  final  passage  of  its  rich 
acres  into  Federal  hands  was  one  of  the  last  blows  of 
the  great  conflict  for  Liberty  and  Union. 

Travelers  along  the  turnpike  that  threads  the  valley 
— to-day,  as  then,  one  of  the  famous  roads  of  the 
country — are  attracted  by  markers  and  monuments 

21 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

that  tell  of  brave  men  who  fought  and  died  along  the 
way,  and  of  bitterly  contested  skirmishes  that  resulted 
in  frequent  changes  of  ownership. 

To  Winchester,  not  far  from  Charles  Town,  belongs 
the  record  for  such  changes.  Seventy  times  during 
four  years  the  town  passed  from  one  side  to  the  other 
—four  times  in  a  single  day ! 

For  many  miles  down  the  valley  road  a  backward 
glance  shows  the  receding  gap  where  the  waters  of 
two  rivers  plunge  through  the  mountains  and  where 
history  was  made  by  many  actors  from  pioneer  times 
down  to  the  days  of  the  Civil  War. 

On  either  side  of  the  road  fertile  farms  stretch  away 
to  a  ridge  of  tree-clad  mountains.  The  two  ridges 
form  the  real  boundaries  of  the  funnel-shaped  valley 
whose  mouth  is  at  Harper's  Ferry,  whose  head  is  near 
Staunton — one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  woodland 
and  pasture  and  fertile  field. 

And  orchards!  For  this  is  the  home  of  the  red 
apple  of  Virginia.  And  fortunate  is  he  who  seeks  the 
valley  in  early  October  when  the  trees  are  bending 
beneath  the  weight  of  the  ripened  fruit,  when  the 
farmers  are  pleading  with  friends,  acquaintances, 
strangers,  everybody,  to  help  in  gathering  the  crop. 

There  were  numerous  evidences  of  the  eagerness 
for  pickers.  Once  the  pilgrims  passed  a  village  school 
where  the  teacher  was  loading  the  boys  and  girls  into 
a  carry-all.  With  merry  laughter  and  glad  anticipation 
they  were  off  for  a  morning  with  the  fruit. 

Not  far  from  that  village  school,  and  about  one  hun- 
dred miles  up  the  valley  funnel,  is  New  Market,  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  stories  of  the  heroic  campaigns 
of  1861-1864  along  the  Shenandoah.  Leading  from 

22 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

New  Market  across  the  ridge  to  the  left,  to  famous 
Luray  Caverns,  is  a  mountain  road  that  takes  advan- 
tage of  New  Market  Gap  for  the  crossing  to  Eastern 
Virginia.  This  road  was  in  wartime  a  favorite  means 
of  communication  between  Richmond  and  the  armies 
in  the  valley.  To-day  it  passes  through  the  heart  of 
the  Massanutten  National  Forest,  the  most  accessible 
of  the  national  forests  to  Philadelphia,  Washington 
and  Baltimore. 

And  what  wonders  this  forest  area  has  in  store  for 
the  visitor,  whether  he  comes  for  a  brief  stay  of  a  day 
or  two,  or  determined  to  spend  several  weeks  in 
this  enchanted  area  where  the  Indians,  in  giving 
the  name  Massanutten,  had  in  mind  the  "  Great 
Mountain  Yonder!" 

Some  of  the  early  settlers  followed  the  Indians  to 
Massanutten.  William  Powell,  it  is  said,  found  silver 
here  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  make  counterfeit 
money,  the  depreciated  currency  of  King  George  giving 
him  his  opportunity.  George  Washington,  too,  hunted 
and  fished  and  surveyed  on  the  mountain  and  in  the 
valleys  on  either  side.  Like  the  good  strategist  he  was, 
he  planned  to  return  to  the  region  if  the  difficulties  of 
1776  proved  too  great,  and  to  erect  fortifications,  so 
the  claim  is  made,  in  the  Powell's  Fort  Valley,  whose 
wonderful  situation  for  such  a  purpose  will  be  appar- 
ent to  those  who  examine  the  suggestive  map  of  the 
Massanutten  Forest  sent  on  application  to  the  Forest 
Service  at  Washington,  D.  C. 

"Beware  of  the  road  over  Massanutten!"  was  the 
warning  of  the  proprietor  of  the  lunch-counter  in  the 
village.  But  who  would  not  risk  a  few  difficulties  for 
the  sake  of  the  tremendous  prospect  spread  out  from 

23 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  road  as  it  climbs  the  mountainside?  And  in  the 
days  so  soon  to  come  when  a  turnpike  will  take  away 
some  of  the  delights  of  the  journey  to  Luray,  while 
adding  others,  it  will  be  worth  while  to  say,  "But  you 
should  have  crossed  over  Massanutten  before  the  road 
was  straightened,  when  the  cautious  traveler  looked 
well  to  his  supply  of  matches  before  beginning  the 
fifteen-mile  traverse  from  New  Market  to  Luray." 
Fifteen  miles  is  a  short  distance — but  it  is  an  easy 
matter  to  be  overtaken  by  the  night,  with  a  disabled 
machine,  while  crossing  the  mountain. 

The  first  visitors  to  Luray  Caverns  found  that  in 
past  ages  not  only  wolves  but  bears  knew  the  way  to 
those  passages;  footprints  appear  everywhere  on  the 
damp  clay  floor,  looking  as  if  they  had  just  been  made, 
though  many  of  them  probably  are  centuries  old. 

The  clay  has  been  removed,  so  that  the  visitor  finds 
the  floor  in  most  places  reasonably  dry.  Concrete  walks 
and  bridges  have  been  built  wherever  these  are  needed, 
that  access  may  be  easy  to  the  intricate  by-ways  that 
lead  to  mysterious  dungeons,  tortuous  passages,  and 
splendid  halls. 

Everywhere  incandescent  lights  are  placed,  so  that 
the  marvels  of  the  cave  are  revealed  in  an  appealing 
manner.  The  first  visitors  had  to  be  content  with  sput- 
tering candles,  but  as  early  as  1882  the  aisles  and 
vaulted  halls  were  illuminated  by  arc  lights  whose 
power  proceeded  from  an  engine  in  Luray  over  what 
was  then  a  marvel,  a  circuit  of  seven  miles,  "supposed 
to  be  the  largest  circuit  yet  attempted  with  a  single 
engine,"  according  to  the  exclamatory  boast  of  Horace 
C.  Hovey,  who  first  described  the  mile  and  a  half  of 
passages  that  are  open  to  the  tourist  as  well  as  the 

24 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

additional  mile  or  more  to  which  geologists  and  other 
specialists  have  access. 

These  three  miles  of  subterranean  glory  are  cov- 
ered by  about  one  hundred  acres  of  rocky  earth.  So 
it  is  in  contracted  space  that  the  ways  trodden  by  the 
bears  and  wolves  of  past  ages  turn  and  loop  one 
over  another.  The  lowest  passage  is  two  hundred 
and  sixty  feet  below  that  nearest  the  surface  of  the 
upland  plateau. 

At  once  on  descending  the  easy  concrete  steps  that 
lead  to  Entrance  Avenue  the  visitor  is  in  the  midst  of 
the  glittering  formations  that  crowd  on  all  sides  in 
prodigal  profusion  and  fantastic  shape — stalactites, 
whose  slow  growth  downward  from  the  ceiling  has  been 
accomplished  by  the  agency  of  the  water-bearing  car- 
bonate of  lime,  "the  ever-plying  shuttle  that  weaves 
the  fairy  fabric,"  leaving  behind  a  portion  of  the  min- 
eral before  it  drops  from  the  end  of  the  stalactite  to  the 
floor;  and  stalagmites,  formed  from  the  floor  upward 
by  the  drops  from  the  stalactites.  When  the  drops 
are  slow  enough  in  their  movement  they  leave  all  the 
mineral  they  carry  on  the  stalactites,  but  sometimes 
they  form  more  rapidly  and  the  mineral  growth  from 
the  floor  is  the  result. 

Frequently  stalactites  and  stalagmites  have  grown 
together  and  formed  columns  from  floor  to  ceiling. 
Sometimes  they  are  slowly  approaching  each  other.  In 
one  instance,  at  least,  the  two  are  separated  by  the 
thickness  of  a  knife-blade ;  yet  many  months  will  pass 
before  the  gap  is  filled.  The  present  rate  of  growth 
is  a  cubic  inch  in  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  years, 
though  in  other  caverns  it  is  more  rapid. 

The  eerie  beauty  of  the  scramble  through  these  col- 

25 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

limns  and  pinnacles  is  increased  by  the  changes  in 
color,  which  varies  from  brown  or  yellow  to  startling 
red  and  glistening,  alabaster  white.  Here  is  a  spark- 
ling waterfall,  its  successive  cascades  natural  as  life — 
but  the  entire  formation  is  mineral.  Over  yonder  is  a 
dull  series  of  pendants  that  look  for  all  the  world  like 
fish,  still  dripping  from  the  stream,  hanging  in  a  row 
as  in  a  market.  From  the  ceiling  depend  draperies 
delicate  as  a  woman's  evening  wrap,  which  need  only 
the  electric  light  to  show  their  translucent  texture. 
In  more  than  one  instance  the  light  reveals  combina- 
tions of  colors  that  make  one  think  he  sees  a  blanket 
hanging  out  to  dry,  or  a  side  of  bacon  where  fat  and 
lean  alternate  in  most  appetizing  fashion. 

In  the  hall  known  as  The  Cathedral  there  is  a  group 
of  formations  called  The  Organ  that  respond  to  the 
skilled  touch  of  fingers  or  soft  mallet  like  the  pipes 
of  an  organ.  Tunes  can  be  played  on  these  as  on  tubu- 
lar metal,  the  pleasure  given  being  increased  by  the 
long  time  required  for  the  dying  away  of  the  sound; 
sometimes  the  vibrations  continue  more  than  a  min- 
ute after  a  stalactite  has  been  struck. 

As  the  pilgrims  to  Luray  emerged  from  the  caverns 
— where  the  temperature  is  about  fifty-four  degrees 
the  year  round — they  were  content  to  leave  to  scien- 
tists the  discussion  as  to  the  age  of  what  they  had 
seen.  For  them  it  was  enough  to  marvel  at  the  handi- 
work of  Him  who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth. 

Back  again  over  the  mountain  to  New  Market.  The 
road  seemed  better  than  before,  and  the  prospect  from 
Massanutten  was  more  perfect  on  the  return  trip. 
Down  the  valley,  with  the  Shenandoah  National  For- 
est on  the  ridge  to  the  right,  where  a  road  on  the  sum- 

26 


NATURAL    BRIDGE,    VIRGINIA 


mit  affords  splendid  opportunity  to  view  the  country. 
On  to  Harrisonburg,  whose  name  recalls  men  of  1861- 
1865,  and  whose  pleasant  streets  and  stately  buildings 
speak  of  bustle  and  prosperity.  On  to  Staunton,  the 
city  famed  for  its  educational  institutions  as  well  as 
its  sturdy  leadership  in  business,  the  city  which 
proudly  points  to  the  manse  where  Woodrow  Wilson 
was  born  when  his  father  was  a  pastor  in  the  town,  a 
house  occupied  by  a  successor  in  the  church. 

At  Staunton  the  pilgrims  had  been  told  the  perfect 
Shenandoah  Valley  road  ended.  So  they  sought  ad- 
vice as  to  o*oads  toward  Lexington. 

"There  are  two  ways,"  was  the  statement  of  a  clerk 
at  the  postoffice.  "One  of  them  you  will  find  so  bad 
you  will  wish  you  had  taken  the  other.  You  will  have 
dust  to  your  hubs.  For  a  mile  there  are  stones  the 
size  of  your  fist.  I  went  that  way  Saturday,  and 
I  came  back  the  other.  My  advice  to  you  is  to  take 
neither  road." 

But  it  was  not  good  advice.  There  was  no  dust; 
perhaps  it  had  rained.  And  there  were  no  rocks.  To 
be  sure,  the  going  was  slow  at  times.  But  who  wishes 
to  move  rapidly  when  there  is  such  a  succession  of 
vistas  of  hill  and  vale,  on  to  the  distant  ridges  to 
the  west? 

Then  the  road  winds  through  the  valley  and  over 
the  hills  to  Lexington,  one  of  the  shrines  of  the  South- 
land, for  when  they  think  of  Lexington  Southerners  are 
apt  to  think  also  of  the  man  whom  fellow-students  at 
West  Point  affectionately  called  "Old  Jack,"  whose 
soldiers,  many  years  later,  gave  him  the  nick- 
name "  Stonewall." 

General  Jackson  was  an  earnest  Christian  man,  a 

27 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

loyal  citizen  of  the  Union  until  he  felt  that  he  should 
listen  first  to  the  call  of  his  own  state,  Virginia.  Then 
he  became  a  leader  of  Confederate  forces,  and  so  con- 
tinued until  the  day  when  he  was  shot  down  by  his  own 
men,  who  mistook  him  and  his  staff  for  Federal  cav- 
alry. A  monument  rises  to  his  memory  not  far  from 
the  business  center  of  Lexington,  and  there  loyal  citi- 
zens from  all  parts  of  a  reunited  country  meet  in 
appreciation  of  the  commander's  stalwart  character. 

It  is  remarkable  that  another  of  the  South 's  great- 
est commanders  was  buried  in  Lexington — Robert  E. 
Lee,  who  called  Stonewall  Jackson  his  right  arm.  After 
the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  when  he  urged  his  men  to 
do  their  loyal  best  as  citizens  of  their  country,  he 
became  president  of  Washington  College  at  Lexington, 
now  Washington  and  Lee  University.  For  five  years 
he  trained  students  for  Christian  service  in  a  land 
where  there  would  be  no  more  North  and  South,  but 
where  all  would  dwell  together  in  harmony.  He  was 
buried  in  the  college  chapel.  Above  his  tomb  there  is  a 
white  marble  effigy  which  shows  the  great  commander, 
whom  General  Grant  finally  overcame,  asleep  on 
the  battlefield. 

"Let  me  take  you  into  the  General's  study,"  the 
eager  custodian  of  the  chapel  made  his  plea.  "You  all 
will  want  to  see  the  room  where  he  worked. " 

The  door — not  more  than  a  rod  or  two  from  the 
tomb — was  thrown  open  with  reverence,  and  in  sub- 
dued tones  the  guide  called  attention  to  the  furniture. 
"Jest  prezackly  as  the  General  left  it,"  he  said. 
"There  he  set  and  read,  and  there  he  wrote,  and  those 
books  on  the  shelf  he  used,  and  that  map  on  the  wall  he 
helped  to  make ;  see,  it  has  his  name  signed  to  it." 

28 


THE  APPEALING   VALLEY  OF   VIRGINIA 

From  the  city  of  Lee  and  Jackson  it  is  but  fifteen 
miles  to  the  marvel  that  shares  with  Luray  Caverns  the 
claim  to  the  attention  of  visitors  to  the  valley  who  seek 
the  marvelous — Natural  Bridge.  The  road  is  a  little 
rough,  but  it  is  perfectly  good  in  dry  weather.  The 
country  is  not  so  delightfully  garden-like  as  to  the 
north  of  Lexington  and  Staunton,  but  the  more  rugged 
surface  is  welcome.  Perhaps  the  way  would  be  some- 
what trying  to  a  man  behind  a  horse,  if  he  is  in  a  hurry. 
But  the  pilgrims  had  left  haste  behind  them. 

So  had  the  one  lone  traveler  seen  in  many  miles. 
Up  a  rocky  ridge  strained  the  bony  horse  hitched  to  a 
dilapidated-looking  covered  wagon.  A  woman  drove; 
two  children  were  by  her  side.  And  trudging  behind 
was  a  man,  who  was  glad  to  stop  and  exchange  words 
with  men  who  were  not  in  a  hurry. 

* '  This  is  living ! "  he  said. '  *  Six  weeks  ago  the  doctor 
in  New  York  said  I  was  done  for.  I  saw  I  couldn't  get 
well  in  that  climate,  and  I  didn  't  know  what  to  do,  until 
I  found  that  my  wife  was  willing  to  come  off  like  this, 
hoping  to  fix  me  up.  We  bought  that  funny-looking 
contraption  you  saw  and  started  out.  I  Ve  gained  nine 
pounds  since  I  Ve  been  on  the  road,  what  with  exercise 
in  the  good  air,  and  sleeping  out  at  night.  Next  spring 
we  hope  to  go  back  to  New  York. '  * 

The  invalid  did  not  have  time  to  stop  at  Natural 
Bridge ;  he  was  searching  for  something  of  more  value 
to  him  than  a  mighty  arch  that  spans  an  abyss  and  tells 
of  the  Architect  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia. 

But  for  nearly  two  centuries  there  have  come  this 
way  men  for  whom  the  bridge  has  been  the  goal  of  the 
journey.  One  of  these  was  George  Washington.  There 
is  a  tradition  that  when  he  was  a  surveyor  he  visited 

20 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  great  stone  arch,  climbed  some  twenty-five  feet  up 
one  of  the  precipitous  abutments  and  carved  his  initials 
there.  Visitors  are  told  just  where  to  look  for  the 
"G.  W.";  but  it  is  necessary  to  use  a  good  deal  of 
imagination  to  see  the  letters. 

Sam  Houston,  the  Indian  fighter,  later  a  president 
of  Texas  when  it  was  a  republic,  was  familiar  with  the 
arch  above  Cedar  Creek,  for  he  was  born  not  far  from 
the  gorge  in  the  Blue  Eidge  that  is  spanned  by  the 
bridge  not  made  by  the  hands  of  men.  Perhaps  as  he 
looked  from  the  parapet  of  the  monolith  into  the  creek 
bed  far  below,  or  as  he  stood  by  the  water  and  gazed 
upward  at  the  springing  arch,  he  thought  of  the  Indian 
legend  of  the  building  of  the  bridge  which  the  primi- 
tive men  called  the  Bridge  of  God.  The  legend  tells 
how  the  Monacans,  fleeing  before  the  Shawnees  and 
Powhatans,  came  to  a  great  chasm  which  they  could 
not  cross.  In  despair  they  fell  on  their  faces  and 
prayed  that  the  Great  Spirit  would  deliver  them. 
When  they  rose  they  saw  with  wonder  that  a  great 
stone  arch  spanned  the  chasm.  Fearing  to  trust  them- 
selves to  it,  they  sent  the  women  and  children  ahead 
to  test  it.  Then  all  crossed  just  in  time  to  turn  and 
defend  the  passage  against  the  advancing  hosts. 

Thomas  Jefferson  was  the  first  historian  of  this 
Bridge  of  God.  From  his  boyhood  home,  Shadwell, 
not  far  from  Charlottesville,  he  followed  the  beautiful 
valley  of  the  James  until  he  came  to  what  he  later 
described  as  "the  most  sublime  of  Nature's  works.'* 
He  did  not  rest  until  he  secured  possession  of  the 
bridge  and  the  land  surrounding  it.  At  Williamsburg, 
Virginia,  there  is  on  file  the  deed  he  secured  from 
George  III  of  England  to  the  property : 

30 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

"Know  ye  that  for  divers  good  causes  and  consid- 
erations, but  more  especially  for  and  in  consideration 
of  the  sum  of  Twenty  Shillings  of  good  and  lawful 
money  for  our  use  paid  to  our  Receiver  General  of  our 
Eevenues,  in  this  our  Colony  and  Dominion  of  Vir- 
ginia, We  have  Given,  Granted  and  Conferred,  and  by 
these  presents  for  us,  our  heirs  and  successors,  Do 
Give,  Grant  and  Confirm  unto  Thomas  Jefferson,  one 
certain  Tract  or  parcel  of  land  containing  157  acres, 
lying  and  being  in  the  County  of  Botetourt,  including 
the  Natural  Bridge  on  Cedar  Creek  .  .  ." 

When  the  property  came  into  his  possession,  Jef- 
ferson built  a  log  cabin  near  o'ne  end  of  the  bridge, 
for  the  accommodation  of  two  slaves,  who  were  in- 
structed to  receive  and  care  for  the  visitors  who  should 
go  there  in  response  to  the  owner's  earnest  invitation 
to  see  something  that  would  add  joy  to  life.  It  is  said 
that  the  stone  chimney  built  for  this  cabin  became  a 
part  of  a  modern  house  on  the  same  site. 

The  present-day  visitor  who  would  follow  in  the 
steps  of  the  friends  of  Jefferson  to  what  Henry  Clay 
called  "the  bridge  not  made  with  hands,  that  spans  a 
river,  carries  a  highway,  and  makes  two  mountains 
one,"  has  first  an  impressive  journey  whether  he  comes 
from  the  north,  up  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  through 
Lexington,  and  across  the  intervening  fifteen  miles  of 
picturesque  hill  road ;  from  the  south,  past  the  Peaks  of 
Otter,  across  the  Valley  of  the  James  near  its  head- 
waters; or  from  the  east,  across  the  green  mountain 
ridge  that  gives  enticing  hint  of  the  beauties  of  the  can- 
yon of  Cedar  Creek  spanned  by  Jefferson's  arch. 

From  whatever  direction  approach  is  made,  no 
warning  is  given  either  of  the  massive  structure  or  of 

31 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  secluded  gorge  it  spans,  even  if  the  road  leads  over 
the  bridge  itself.  It  is  possible  to  make  the  crossing 
without  realizing  what  is  underneath;  the  roadway  is 
wide,  and  the  parapet  and  the  trees  that  overhang  the 
brink  on  either  side  of  the  canyon  shut  out  the  view. 

So  most  visitors  have  their  first  sight  of  the  bridge 
from  the  bed  of  Cedar  Creek,  after  walking  several 
hundred  yards  down  the  winding  path  that  leads  by  the 
ancient  trees,  whose  girth  demands  an  instant's  pause, 
though  one  is  eager  for  the  vision  of  grace  and  splen- 
dor that  waits  around  a  turn  to  the  right. 

Just  at  first  the  great  height  of  the  arch  is  not 
apparent;  the  bluffs  that  crowd  close  on  either  side 
seem  to  interfere  with  the  impression.  But  this  is  only 
for  an  instant.  Almost  at  once  the  great  distance  from 
the  bed  of  the  stream  to  the  center  of  the  arch,  and  then 
to  the  surface  where  the  road  crosses  from  wall  to  wall, 
takes  hold  of  the  imagination,  and  the  figures  which 
an  instant  before  meant  little  become  eloquent.  Two 
hundred  and  fifteen  feet  is  the  height,  the  span  is  ninety 
feet,  and  the  space  for  the  roadway  is  from  fifty  to 
ninety  feet  wide !  Fifteen  thousand  cubic  feet  of  rock 
in  the  arch  above  the  stream!  And  beneath  the  arch 
Niagara  Falls  might  make  its  plunge,  so  far  as  height 
is  concerned.  "The  span  itself  has  the  precision  of 
measured  masonry,"  one  visitor  wrote,  "yet  the  block 
of  stone  between  the  piers  is  an  unbroken  mass.  The 
opening  has  somewhat  the  proportions  of  a  horseshoe 
magnet,  while  the  walls  are  not  absolutely  perpendicu- 
lar, but  lean  slightly  to  the  left.  The  faces  are  tinted 
dull  red  and  ochre,  and  soft  shades  of  yellow  and  cream, 
colored  by  the  vein  of  iron  and  manganese  in  the  hills 
above.  Where  the  arch  protects  the  walls  from  the 

32 


THE  APPEALING  VALLEY  OF  VIRGINIA 

water  they  are  of  a  dark  or  delicate  bluish  gray,  with 
white  lights." 

Let  the  silent  worshiper  at  this  shrine  of  the  Cre- 
ator stand  a  little  while  and  wonder  at  the  arch  that 
seems  even  larger  than  before  as  the  birds  wing  their 
way  through  it  or  alight  on  their  nests  built  in  the  fis- 
sures of  the  rock.  Then  let  him  walk  within  the  shadow 
of  the  arch  that  is  so  far  above  him  that  it  would  be 
useless  as  a  shelter  from  a  summer  rain.  Let  him  pass 
through,  then  turn  and  study  the  proportions  of  super- 
human planning,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  picture 
framed  in  the  arch — trees  and  rocks  and  walls  and 
water,  and  above  all  the  azure  sky  of  Virginia.  Let  him 
turn  again  and  scramble  up  the  glen,  amidst  the  under- 
growth of  what  has  been  called  "the  finest  fernery  in 
the  world,"  where  sixty  varieties  of  fern  have  been 
classified.  On  to  Saltpetre  Cave,  where,  during  the 
War  of  1812,  busy  men  gathered  a  necessary  ingredient 
for  gunpowder;  to  Lost  River,  which  the  miners  dis- 
covered one  day  as  they  toiled — a  stream  whose  source 
and  outlet  both  are  unknown;  to  Lace  Water  Falls, 
where  Cedar  Creek  comes  to  a  precipice  fifty  feet  high 
and  takes  the  plunge  as  if  eager  to  pass  under  the  arch 
that  lends  glory  to  the  stream. 

Now  it  is  time  to  turn  and  follow  the  water  to  the 
portals  of  the  arch,  there  to  study  once  more  what  some 
geologists  say  is  all  that  is  left  of  a  vast  underground 
cavern  through  which  a  hidden  river  found  its  way, 
a  cavern  broken  by  an  earthquake  until  the  sole  relic 
of  what  may  once  have  been  similar  to  the  Caverns  of 
Luray  is  the  Natural  Bridge  that  was  the  delight  of 
Jefferson  as  it  will  be  the  delight  of  those  who  fol- 
low him  to  this  charmed  valley  deep  in  the  hills  loved 
by  the  Sage  of  Monticello. 
3 


CHAPTER  II 

ALONG  MARYLAND'S  VALLEY  OF  DREAMS 
(FROM  WASHINGTON  TO  CUMBERLAND) 

THE  valley  of  the  upper  Potomac  might  well  be 
called  the  Valley  of  Dreams. 
George  Washington  was  the  first  dreamer. 
Before  the  Bevolution  he  talked  of  reaching  the  West 
by  means  of  improvements  on  the  Potomac  Eiver. 
After  the  close  of  the  war  he  was  given  opportunity  to 
carry  out  his  plans.  In  1784  he  made  a  horseback 
journey  to  Ohio,  to  renew  acquaintance  with  the  diffi- 
culties and  possibilities  of  the  country.  In  1785  Mary- 
land and  Virginia  appropriated  what  seemed  large 
sums  for  the  improvement  of  the  river  according  to 
Washington's  plan,  and  $6,666.67  for  a  road  "from  the 
highest  practicable  navigation  of  the  river  to  ... 
the  river  Cheat,  or  Monongahela. ' '  The  company  that 
was  to  improve  the  river,  the  first  part  of  the  ambitious 
project,  was  capitalized  at  £40,300.  Washington  felt 
sure  that  within  a  few  years  return  on  the  investment 
would  be  at  least  twenty  per  cent. 

From  1785  to  1787  Washington  was  president  of 
the  *  *  Patowmack  Canal  Company, "  as  it  was  called  in 
an  early  prospectus.  During  these  years  he  was  able 
to  keep  enthusiasm  alive,  and  it  was  possible  to  do 
effective  work  in  building  canals  around  the  obstruc- 
tions at  Great  Falls,  near  Washington,  at  Seneca  Falls, 
near  by,  and  at  Shenandoah  Falls,  at  Harper's  Ferry. 
Yet  it  was  not  easy  to  secure  money  to  pay  the  common 

34 


ALONG   MARYLAND'S   VALLEY  OF   DREAMS 

laborers,  who  received  thirty-two  shillings  per  month, 
in  addition  to  rations. 

With  the  removal  of  Washington,  the  canal 
dreamer,  to  Philadelphia,  as  the  head  of  the  Govern- 
ment, interest  languished.  Shares  were  offered  at 
auction  without  a  bid.  But  $729,380  in  all  was  raised 
and  expended  by  1820,  when  it  was  decided  that  some- 
thing more  must  be  done. 

Washington  was  also  the  first  dreamer  of  a  far 
more  ambitious  project :  the  National  Road  to  connect 
with  the  Potomac  Canal  and  to  go  on  to  the  Ohio.  And 
Thomas  Jefferson  and  Henry  Clay  were  the  later 
dreamers  who  gave  form  to  his  proposal  for  establish- 
ing easy  communication  with  the  West.  In  1806  Jeffer- 
son signed  a  bill  appropriating  $30,000  for  a  prelim- 
inary survey.  After  various  delays  construction  was 
begun  in  earnest  in  1816,  and  the  road  was  completed 
to  Wheeling  in  1818.  Baltimore  dreamers,  determined 
to  preserve  for  that  city  its  eminence  in  western  trade, 
arranged  for  a  connection  with  that  city.  As  a  result, 
Baltimore,  instead  of  Cumberland,  is  looked  on  as  the 
eastern  terminus  of  the  old  road  that  played  such  a 
vital  part  in  the  early  history  of  the  nation. 

Then  came  a  third  dream.  It  was  proposed  to  con- 
struct a  canal  from  Georgetown,  along  the  left  bank 
of  the  Potomac,  to  Cumberland,  and  from  there  by  the 
best  route  to  the  Ohio  River.  The  first  estimate  of  the 
cost  was  $1,500,000 ;  but  it  was  soon  realized  that  much 
more  would  be  needed  to  build  a  canal  to  Cumberland. 
The  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal  Company  was  sanc- 
tioned by  Congress  and  chartered  by  Maryland,  Vir- 
ginia and  Pennsylvania. 

There  was  great  enthusiasm  in  Washington,  yet 

35 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Baltimore  business  men  were  not  more  than  lukewarm. 
The  city  did  not  oppose  the  canal;  but  how  could  she 
be  expected  to  be  enthusiastic?  Why  should  the  city 
pay  one-third  of  the  taxes  voted  by  Maryland  for  the 
canal,  when  the  result  would  be  to  divert  its  trade  to 
Washington  and  cities  near  by?  Philadelphia  and 
New  York  were  already  making  ready  to  take  much 
of  their  trade ;  was  Washington  to  be  allowed  to  com- 
plete the  work  of  destruction? 

The  asking  of  the  question  gave  birth  to  the  most 
ambitious  dream  of  all.  Philip  Thomas  and  George 
Brown  were  the  dreamers  now.  Who  wanted  a  canal, 
anyway?  Canals  were  out  of  date;  the  day  of  the  rail- 
road was  coming.  The  railroad  "will  surely  supercede 
canals  as  effectually  as  canals  have  superceded  turn- 
pike roads,"  was  the  contention  in  Baltimore.  Daring 
Baltimoreans,  therefore,  planned  to  bridge  the  five 
hundred  miles  between  that  city  and  the  Ohio  River! 
And  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  up  to  that  time  a 
ten-mile  line  was  the  country's  most  ambitious  rail- 
road achievement. 

The  railroad  dreamers  and  the  canal  dreamers  got 
busy  at  about  the  same  time.  On  July  4,  1828,  ground 
for  the  canal  was  broken  near  Washington,  and  on  the 
same  day  the  "cornerstone"  of  the  railroad  was  laid 
at  Baltimore. 

The  dreamers  became  deadly  rivals.  There  was 
no  difficulty  until  the  railroad  reached  the  Potomac. 
There  the  canal  company  claimed  the  sole  right  of  way. 
There  were  injunctions  and  lawsuits,  disastrous  delays 
and  compromises  that  hurt  both  parties.  The  chief 
difficulty  came  between  Point  of  Bocks  and  Harper's 
Ferry,  where  the  passage  between  the  river  and  the 

36 


ALONG   MARYLAND'S  VALLEY  OF  DREAMS 

mountain  is  narrow.  It  was  finally  arranged  that  the 
railroad  should  be  given  right  of  way  to  Harper's 
Ferry,  on  condition  that  it  should  build  no  farther  until 
its  slower  rival  could  reach  Cumberland.  Within  a 
year  or  two,  however,  the  canal  company  sought  state 
relief  from  its  financial  difficulties,  and  this  was  granted 
on  condition  that  the  railroad  be  allowed  to  go  ahead 
as  rapidly  as  possible. 

So,  in  1842,  the  dream  of  the  railroad  builders  was 
realized  as  far  as  Cumberland,  but  it  was  not  until 
1850  that  the  canal  reached  the  city  perched  on  the 
Potomac  far  below  overshadowing  mountains. 

The  bitter  rivalries  have  been  forgotten;  calmly 
and  peacefully  railroad  and  canal  cross  the  long  west- 
ern extension  of  Maryland,  sometimes  side  by  side,  at 
other  times  within  sight  of  each  other.  One  carries  a 
mighty  commerce,  and  its  importance  increases  with 
the  years ;  the  other  pursues  its  dignified  way,  bearing 
on  its  bosom  during  each  month  of  the  open  season  a 
few  hundred  coal-laden  canal  barges  whose  crews  are 
blissfully  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  the  one  hundred  and 
eighty-six  miles  of  artificial  waterway  from  George- 
town to  Cumberland  cost  $11,591,768.37! 

Perhaps  that  is  expensive  when  the  amount  of  com- 
merce carried  is  considered.  But  it  is  cheap  in  the  eyes 
of  the  leisurely  traveler  who  wants  to  see  the  charming 
Maryland  landscape  through  which  the  canal  makes 
its  way. 

The  journey  along  the  canal  will  take  time ;  but  what 
of  that?  The  boatmen  are  hospitable,  as  a  rule,  and  it 
is  not  a  difficult  matter  to  make  arrangements  with 
one  of  them  for  a  passage  from  beginning  to  end  of  the 
route.  The  quarters  provided  may  not  be  as  comf  ort- 

37 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

able  as  in  the  days  of  the  passenger  packet  boats.  The 
speed  is  not  as  good  as  the  dizzy  five  and  six  miles 
attained  when  the  canal  was  in  its  glory.  But 
who  cares? 

' '  Movement  without  motion ' '  is  the  description  some- 
one has  given  to  travel  by  canal.  The  aptness  of  the 
phrase  will  be  appreciated  by  the  fortunate  traveler 
with  a  few  days  to  spare  who  has  persuaded  the  mon- 
arch of  one  of  the  long,  ungainly  canal  boats  to  take 
him  as  passenger  from  Georgetown  toward  Cumber- 
land. Immediately  after  passing  through  the  locks  at 
Great  Falls,  the  boat  passes  serenely  beneath  rocky 
cliffs,  surmounted  by  trees  of  a  dozen  varieties  and 
almost  hidden  by  luxuriant  verdure. 

For  many  miles  the  waterway  keeps  close  to  the 
Potomac,  sometimes  many  feet  above  the  stream,  again 
on  a  level  with  it.  The  mirror-like  surface  beneath  the 
gliding  boat  is  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  rippling  and 
sometimes  impetuously  flowing  river.  A  part  of  the 
restful  scene  is  the  boy  who  rides  the  horse  on  the  tow- 
path,  lolling  back  perhaps  and  looking  up  at  the  blue 
sky,  or  the  woman  who  leans  against  the  crude  rudder 
or  goes  about  her  household  mysteries  in  her  rest- 
less kitchen. 

And  nowthe river  and  the  canal  seek  closer  acquaint- 
ance with  sleepy,  green  mountain  ridges.  On  the  slope 
between  are  log  cabins  with  huge  stone  chimneys,  and 
more  ambitious  houses  of  wood  and  stone.  There  are 
fields  where  boys  are  at  their  never-ending  task  of  gath- 
ering rocks.  Again  the  eye  rests  on  cool  forests  or 
luscious  orchards  or  generous  fields  where  the  corn 
rustles,  only  to  be  distracted  by  one  more  of  the  locks 
where  the  ridiculously  narrow  boat  stealthily  rises  to 

38 


&  cu 

a  •- 
a  ; 


ALONG    MARYLAND'S   VALLEY  OF   DREAMS 

pursue  its  journey  on  a  higher  level,  or  by  an  overhead 
bridge  where  the  passenger  must  stoop  quickly  if  he 
would  not  be  thrown  prostrate. 

Here  and  there  along  the  towpath  are  snubbing 
posts  which  made  one  leisurely  pilgrim  think  of  a  dark 
day  in  college  when  he  sat  on  a  post  like  one  of  these, 
by  just  such  a  canal,  watched  other  boats  go  by,  and 
wondered  where  the  money  was  to  come  from  to  pay 
his  week's  board  bill  and  secure  a  few  bushels  of  coal 
for  the  cannon  stove  in  his  dormitory  room.  Some- 
how an  experience  of  enforced  economy  always  brings 
to  his  mind  the  picture  of  a  snubbing  post  and  a 
canal  boat! 

One  of  the  keenest  pleasures  of  the  trip  by  canal  is 
the  walk  along  the  towpath,  keeping  pace  with  the  plod- 
ding horses,  moving  on  ahead,  lagging  behind  for  a 
closer  study  of  the  banks,  turning  aside  into  the  for- 
ests by  the  way,  or  into  the  fields — perhaps  at  Big 
Pool,  Maryland,  some  eighteen  miles  west  of  Hagers- 
town,  for  a  sight  of  the  ruined  stone  walls  of  Fort 
Frederick,  which  dates  from  Colonial  days.  Again  the 
temptation  comes  to  move  to  a  point  where  can  be  seen 
the  sturdy  aqueducts  by  which  the  canal  crosses  tribu- 
taries of  the  river.  Fit  companions  these  for  the  well- 
constructed  bridges  of  the  National  Road  that,  after 
nearly  one  hundred  years,  are  a  marvel  of  strength 
and  beauty! 

Sometimes  the  canal  clings  to  the  river,  so  that  it 
is  but  a  step  from  one  to  the  other.  Again  it  remains 
coyly  at  a  distance.  But  always  it  finds  its  way  back 
to  the  stream  on  which  it  depends  for  water.  Often 
railroad  and  turnpike  and  canal  and  river  are  crowded 
in  a  deep  gorge  where  the  ridges  come  close  on  either 

39 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

side ;  but  soon  they  are  able  to  take  more  room,  for  the 
mountains  slope  more  gently,  perhaps  with  a  rolling 
green  shelf  intervening.  In  such  places  perhaps  the 
eye  moves  gradually  upward  to  a  summit  outlined  by 
trees  of  the  forest,  or,  it  may  be,  by  corn  in  stately  rows 
that  make  silhouettes  against  the  sky. 

No  one  can  easily  forget  the  twelve  miles  from 
Point  of  Rocks  to  Harper's  Ferry,  or  the  first  sight 
of  the  mighty  gorge  where  the  mountains  bow  to  permit 
the  passage  of  the  Shenandoah  and  the  Potomac.  That 
scene  is  always  remarkable,  but  some  think  it  is  more 
pleasing  at  dawn.  What  a  setting  this  for  the  sunrise, 
viewed  from  a  point  where  the  canal  and  the  two  rivers 
are  in  sight !  Watch  the  faint  rose  tinge  in  the  water, 
deepening  gradually  to  red,  the  reflected  clouds,  the 
sun-kissed  mountains!  Is  it  strange  that  often  the 
canal  boatman  is  something  of  a  poet? 

Those  early  engineers  who  planned  this  canal  had 
the  poet 's  soul.  Note  the  pleasing  sweep  of  the  canal ;  of 
course  the  site  was  fixed  for  engineering  reasons,  but  it 
seems  the  best  possible  setting  for  the  pleasing  scenery. 
And  those  who  have  followed  the  engineers  in  the  care 
of  the  waterway  have  labored  in  like  spirit.  Witness 
the  sturdy  trees  along  the  towpath,  sometimes  a  mere 
drooping  eyelash  through  which  the  mother  river 
watches  over  her  child;  sometimes — when  the  stream, 
relaxing  guardianship  for  a  time,  withdraws  to  a  dis- 
tance— a  real  bit  of  woodland.  Always  they  seem  to 
say  to  those  fortunate  enough  to  respond  to  their  allur- 
ing whisper:  " Feast  your  eyes  on  us;  our  beauty  is 
for  you.  Look  up  through  our  branches  to  the  sky. 
Look  down  at  our  reflection  in  the  glassy  surface  on 
which  your  craft  rides  so  smoothly.  And  then  think 

40 


ALONG   MARYLAND'S  VALLEY  OF   DREAMS 

of  God,  who  placed  the  trees  where  all  could  see  them 
and  read  his  mind. '  ' 

To  a  chronicler  of  1840,  who  wrote  of  the  canal, 
the  crowning  feature  was  the  tunnel  twenty-five  miles 
above  Hancock,  "three  thousand  one  hundred  and 
eighteen  feet  long,  twenty-four  feet  wide,  and  seven- 
teen feet  from  the  crown  of  the  arch  to  the  water's 
surface,  cut  through  slate  rock."  But  tunnels  do  not 
have  the  appeal  of  the  open  spaces — for  instance,  those 
just  before  Cumberland  is  reached.  There  the  canal 
ambles  across  a  valley  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  ridge 
whose  many-humped  summit  looks  like  the  bump-the- 
bumps  of  some  giant.  A  look  ahead  shows  the  succes- 
sive folds  of  the  mountain,  closing  down  on  the  little 
city,  many  of  whose  streets  rise  tier  on  tier,  while  the 
houses  climb  higher  and  yet  higher  until  some  are  even 
brave  enough  to  stand  alone  on  the  crest  of  the  top- 
most ridge. 

At  Cumberland  is  the  end  of  the  canal  trip  that  is 
always  worth  while.  Let  it  be  made  in  the  spring,  when 
the  trees  are  taking  on  their  clothing  of  summer  green. 
Or  a  good  time  is  the  summer,  when  the  foliage  grows 
dense  and  the  river  invites  the  swimmer.  And  there  is 
late  October,  when  the  grandest  Artist  of  all  paints  the 
trees  in  gorgeous  crimson  and  yellow,  when  the  light 
of  the  setting  sun  falls  on  glorified  hillsides  and  makes 
even  the  stolid  boatman  exclaim,  with  shamefaced 
apology,  "You  can't  help  saying  something  when  you 
see  a  thing  like  that." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  EASTERN  SHORE  AND  THE  CHESAPEAKE 

"  f  |  ^HE  LAND  OF  GENTLEMEN"  is  one  of  the 
popular  names  for  the  water-bound  Eastern 

-"-  Shore  of  Maryland  and  Virginia  between  the 
Chesapeake  Bay  and  the  Delaware  and  Atlantic  Ocean 
— a  region  of  romance  and  beauty,  and  Americans  who 
can  be  sure  of  ancestors  who  came  from  England 
long  ago. 

There  are  a  few  easy  approaches  to  the  land  of 
fertile  farms  and  shifting  sands.  First  there  is  the 
steamer  from  Baltimore  down  the  Chesapeake.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  the  steamship  company  will  plan  a  day 
schedule  for  the  pleasure  of  those  who  wish  to  study 
the  curiously  indented  shore  past  Annapolis  and  the 
mouths  of  the  Patuxent  and  the  Potomac,  along  the 
limits  of  the  peninsula  of  Tidewater  Virginia  on  the 
west  and  the  curious  but  important  appendage  to  Vir- 
ginia on  the  east. 

Then  there  is  the  train  through  the  heart  of  the 
Eastern  Shore.  First  there  is  a  bit  of  Maryland,  where 
orchards  and  green  fields  surround  Salisbury  and 
Princess  Anne,  quaint  towns  whose  shaded  streets  and 
comfortable,  old-time  houses  tell  the  traveler  who  is 
not  in  a  hurry  that  he  ought  to  stop  and  test  the  hos- 
pitality of  people  who  have  not  forgotten  the  traditions 
of  other  days. 

Then  come  the  counties  of  the  Accomac  Peninsula, 
the  many  bays  and  creeks,  the  pines,  and  the  sand 

42 


EASTERN  SHORE  AND  THE  CHESAPEAKE 

dunes  that  are  in  almost  ceaseless  motion  because  of 
the  breezes,  first  from  the  Atlantic,  then  from  the 
Chesapeake.  Through  these  is  the  best  route  to  enter 
the  country  of  the  Chesapeake — after  due  pause  at 
Chincoteague  or  Accomac  or  Eastville,  or  others  of  the 
old-time  towns  and  villages  along  the  way,  there  to 
absorb  some  of  the  delights  of  this  region  to  which  so 
few  turn  their  steps  except  to  rush  through  to  the 
resorts  about  the  lower  Chesapeake. 

Of  the  four  centers  of  greatest  interest  in  connec- 
tion with  the  early  history  of  America — Boston,  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  and  this  Chesapeake  Bay  region  in 
Virginia — the  last  is  least  known.  Yet  here,  within  a 
radius  of  little  more  than  fifty  miles,  were  Jamestown, 
the  first  permanent  settlement  on  the  continent;  the 
famous  houses  on  the  James,  still  shown  to  those  who 
make  their  leisurely  way  along  this  pleasing  waterway ; 
Henrico,  Jamestown's  successor  after  the  capital  of 
the  colony  was  destroyed  during  Bacon's  Rebellion; 
Yorktown,  in  later  years  famous  because  there  were 
the  closing  scenes  of  the  Revolution;  Old  Point  Com- 
fort, the  port  of  entry  for  the  mainland  as  well  as  the 
Eastern  Shore,  the  isolated  tongue  of  land  that  was  one 
of  the  most  favored  sections  of  old  Virginia. 

The  bit  of  the  peninsula  that  belongs  to  Virginia 
contains  two  counties  and  is  about  seventy  miles  long, 
while  the  average  breadth  is  about  eight  miles.  Natu- 
rally it  is  low  and  sandy.  Pine  trees  flourish,  and  strong 
breezes  are  almost  constant.  The  Indians,  with  whom 
this  tongue  of  land  was  a  favorite,  called  it  "Acchaw- 
make,"  or  the  land  beyond  the  water.  The  colonists 
called  it  Accomac,  or  "  Ye  Antient  Kingdome  of  Accaw- 
make. ' '  This  name  survives  as  the  name  of  one  of  the 

43 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

counties,  though,  strangely  enough,  Accomac  is  not 
the  older  of  these  counties;  Northampton  was  the 
original  subdivision  of  the  colony. 

Tradition  says  that  the  first  settlers  on  Accomac 
sought  the  Eastern  Shore  in  1610,  that  they  intermar- 
ried with  the  Nassawattox  Indians,  and  became  semi- 
savage.  But  the  first  settlement  of  which  reliable  his- 
tory tells  was  made  in  1614.  Probably  the  first  perma- 
nent white  settler  was  named  Savage.  His  descendants 
still  live  there ;  Savage  is  a  common  name  on  the  East- 
ern Shore  Historians  of  Virginia  declare  that  the 
Savages  represent  the  oldest  American  family  in  the 
United  States. 

Another  popular  family  name  in  the  region  is  Not- 
tingham, a  name  seldom  heard  elsewhere.  Those  who 
bear  it  are  leaders  in  the  community.  A  writer  on 
Eastern  Shore  peculiarities  has  said,  "One  can  make 
no  mistake  by  addressing  an  Eastern  Shoreman,  if  a 
gentleman,  by  that  name,  for  if  it  is  not  his  own  name 
it  will  probably  be  that  of  a  near  relative;  and  if  he 
happens  not  to  be  a  gentleman,  he  will  be  flattered." 

Before  many  years  other  settlers  followed  the 
original  Savage.  The  lands  were  rich,  and  immigrants 
were  attracted  by  the  exemption  from  the  landing  tax 
required  at  Point  Comfort.  Later  the  community  bore 
its  share  of  taxation,  as  was  appointed  in  1652,  when 
the  leaders  of  the  people  prepared  the  famous  North- 
ampton Protest  to  the  General  Assembly  (and  so  to  the 
King)  against  taxation  without  representation.  In 
this  the  request  was  made  that  the  '  *  Taxacon  of  fforty 
sixe  pounds  of  tobacco  per  poll  .  .  .  bee  taken  off 
ye  charge  of  ye  Countie,"  because  the  "Llawe"  was 
"Arbitrarye  and  illegall:  fforasmuch  as  wee  had 

44 


EASTERN    SHORE    AND    THE    CHESAPEAKE 

neither  summons  for  Ellecon  of  Burgesses  nor  voyce 
in  the  Assemblye. ' ' 

Perhaps  Governor  Berkeley  remembered  this  pro- 
test twenty-five  years  later  when,  in  his  eagerness  to 
attach  to  himself  the  freemen  of  Accomac  and  North- 
ampton, he  promised  freedom  from  taxation  for 
twenty  years  if  they  would  remain  faithful  to  him 
against  the  leaders  of  Bacon's  Rebellion. 

In  1643  about  one  thousand  of  Virginia's  fifteen 
thousand  inhabitants  lived  in  this  small  section  of  the 
colony.  In  1667  the  Eastern  Shore  counties  contained 
about  three  thousand  people. 

The  modern  traveler  along  the  Eastern  Shore  takes 
steamer  for  the  pleasant  ride  from  Cape  Charles  to 
Cape  Henry  and  Fort  Monroe,  an  army  post  where 
sea  wall  and  lighthouse,  batteries,  moat  and  ramparts, 
barracks  for  soldiers  and  quarters  for  officers  hold  the 
eyes  that  look  to  the  land,  while  merchant  vessels  and 
ships  of  war,  some  gliding  along  the  water,  others  rid- 
ing at  anchor,  greet  those  who  turn  to  the  sea. 

Norfolk,  the  leading  seaport  of  the  old  Dominion; 
Newport  News,  at  the  head  of  Hampton  Roads,  and 
Portsmouth  with  its  Navy  Yard,  are  within  reach 
of  the  waters  where  the  Monitor  and  the  Merrimac 
fought  their  duel  to  the  death,  the  first  battle  be- 
tween ironclads. 

At  the  point  of  a  narrow  neck  of  land,  opposite 
Portsmouth,  was  Old  Point  Comfort  Hotel,  until  it  was 
burned  in  March,  1920,  while  across  the  water  on  the 
mainland  is  Hampton,  where  Captain  John  Smith 
landed,  with  its  venerable  St.  John's  Church,  built  in 
1727,  and  the  churchyard  where  weeping  willows  hang 
out  their  drooping  banners. 

45 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

And  this  is  but  the  beginning  of  the  spots  that  make 
Tidewater  Virginia  rich  hunting  ground  for  those  who 
delight  in  the  spots  that  history  has  made  memorable. 
Only  a  few  miles  up  York  River  is  Yorktown,  where 
Cornwallis  sadly  yielded  his  sword,  and  where  forti- 
fications were  built  in  the  days  of  the  Confederacy. 
For  seventy  years  before  the  British  general  came 
there  the  little  town  was  a  busy  place ;  the  first  custom 
house  in  the  United  States,  built  in  1715,  bears  silent 
witness  to  its  trade.  Near  by  is  the  Nelson  House, 
where  Cornwallis  had  his  headquarters,  and  less  than 
a  mile  distant  is  the  Moore  House,  where  the  agree- 
ment of  surrender  was  prepared  and  signed. 

Along  the  Rappahannock  are  a  number  of  the  de- 
lightful homes  of  the  early  days,  but  the  spot  to  which 
visitors  turn  with  greatest  eagerness  is  Fredericks- 
burg,  with  the  house  where  the  mother  of  George  Wash- 
ington lived  and  died,  cared  for  now  by  the  Associa- 
tion for  the  Preservation  of  Virginia  Antiquities. 
Kenmore,  home  of  Betty  Lewis,  Washington's  sister, 
is  near  by. 

Not  far  from  the  mouth  of  the  Potomac,  which 
enters  the  Chesapeake  a  few  mile  above  the  Rappahan- 
nock, the  Lees  had  their  home,  at  Stratford.  This 
sturdy  mansion  was  built  soon  after  the  fire  of  1729 
that  destroyed  the  earlier  house  of  Colonel  Thomas 
Lee,  the  father  of  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee,  who,  in 
the  Continental  Congress,  made  the  motion  that  ''these 
colonies  are  and  of  right  ought  to  be  free  and  indepen- 
dent states. "  Here  Robert  E.  Lee  was  born  in  1807,  and 
here  he  spent  the  first  few  years  of  his  life. 

It  is  only  about  one  hundred  miles  farther  up  the 
river  to  the  region  of  Mount  Vernon,  the  home  which 

46 


EASTERN    SHORE    AND    THE    CHESAPEAKE 

Washington  loved;  Alexandria  and  Pohick,  the  two 
churches  where  he  was  vestryman ;  Gunston  Hall,  where 
he  liked  to  go  to  see  his  friend,  George  Mason,  either  by 
the  road  or  by  the  river  route;  and,  finally,  the  city 
which  he  founded  in  the  heart  of  a  district  given  for 
the  purpose  by  Maryland  and  Virginia,  though  the 
land  south  of  the  Potomac  later  became  again  part 
of  Virginia. 

Washington  is  neither  a  northern  nor  a  southern 
city,  yet  it  was  built  well  within  the  region  popularly 
known  as  the  South,  and  those  who  enter  its  welcoming 
portals  feel  at  once  that  they  are  in  the  land  of  sun- 
shine and  hospitality. 

The  Nation's  Capital  has  changed  since  Charles 
Dickens  wrote  of  it,  in  words  tinged  it  may  be  with 
something  of  prejudice : 

"It  is  sometimes  called  the  City  of  Magnificent  Dis- 
tances, but  it  might  with  greater  propriety  be  called  the 
City  of  Magnificent  Intentions,  for  it  is  only  by  taking 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  it  from  the  top  of  the  Capitol  that 
one  can  at  all  comprehend  the  vast  designs  of  its  pro- 
jector, an  aspiring  Frenchman.  Spacious  avenues  that 
begin  in  nothing  and  lead  nowhere ;  streets  miles  long 
that  only  want  houses,  roads  and  inhabitants;  pub- 
lic buildings  that  need  only  a  public  to  be  com- 
plete; and  ornaments  of  great  thoroughfares  which 
only  lack  great  thoroughfares  to  ornament — are  the 
leading  features." 

Then  the  great  novelist  closed  his  witty  but  not 
altogether  fair  picture  by  declaring  it  "a  monument 
raised  to  a  deceased  project,  with  not  even  a  legible 
inscription  to  record  its  departed  greatness,"  and  by 
saying,  * '  such  as  it  is,  it  is  likely  to  remain. ' ' 

47 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

But  Washington,  instead  of  remaining  what  it  was 
in  the  days  of  its  youth,  has  become  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  cities  in  the  world,  whose  streets  not  only  go 
somewhere,  but  lead  through  regions  where  visitors 
delight  to  follow;  where  beautiful  houses  are  close  to 
the  ever-increasing  number  of  stately  public  buildings ; 
where  trees  grow  luxuriantly  along  the  streets,  and 
frequent  parkways  and  convenient  larger  parks  make 
their  luring  call ;  where  the  sun  shines  with  truly  South- 
ern persistence;  where  the  Monument  lifts  its  head 
high  above  those  who  seek  the  Mall  and  the  Potomac 
beyond;  where  modern  buildings  keep  company  with 
old-time  mansions  like  the  White  House  or  the  Octagon 
House,  in  which  Dolly  Madison  was  mistress  in  the 
days  after  the  destructive  visit  of  the  British  in  1814. 

Washington  is  a  city  of  pilgrims — pilgrims  who 
come  for  a  few  years,  for  a  single  year,  for  a  month,  or, 
it  may  be,  but  for  a  day.  Probably  there  are  few  loyal 
Americans  who  have  not  seen  the  city,  or  who  are 
not  looking  forward  to  a  visit  to  this  national  shrine 
on  the  Potomac,  with  its  opportunities  for  side  trips 
to  Annapolis  or  Alexandria  or  Mount  Vernon  or  Ar- 
lington. In  season  and  out  of  season  there  are  so  many 
of  these  visitors  that  it  is  almost  useless  to  think  of 
asking  a  passer-by  for  directions;  ten  to  one  he  will 
either  anticipate  the  question  by  asking  one  of  his  own, 
or  he  will  reply  that  he  also  is  a  stranger. 

No  one  should  leave  the  vicinity  of  Washington 
without  going  also  to  Baltimore,  the  proud  city  on  the 
Patapsco,  fourteen  miles  from  Chesapeake  Bay,  which 
has  grown  from  a  population  of  two  hundred  in  1752 
until  now  it  is  a  candidate  for  inclusion  before  many 
years  among  cities  with  a  million  inhabitants. 

48 


IN    THE    HEART    OF    BALTIMORE,    MARYLAND 
"Fifty  Years" — A  Contrast 


EASTERN  SHORE  AND  THE  CHESAPEAKE 

In  this  monumental  city  the  structures  erected  to 
men  of  the  past  are  companions  for  other  monuments 
to  modern  industry,  in  the  business  centers,  in  the  fac- 
tory districts,  and  in  the  streets  where  thousands  of 
the  homes  of  the  people,  lifting  their  red-brick  fronts, 
tell  of  the  prosperity  of  the  Monarch  of  the  Chesapeake, 
from  whose  spendid  harbor  go  ships  to  all  parts  of 
the  earth. 

Baltimore's  river  of  the  unusual  name  has  good 
company  along  the  Chesapeake  and  its  tributaries. 
As  the  seaman  sails  down  the  two  hundred  miles 
toward  the  open  ocean  he  will  pass  the  Patuxent,  the 
Choptank  and  the  Potomac.  And  if  he  chooses  to 
ascend  the  stream  that  will  always  be  linked  with  the 
name  of  Washington,  he  will  come  to  the  Nomini,  the 
Wicomico,  the  Yiocomico  and  the  Piankatank,  re- 
minders all  of  the  Indians  who  looked  on  in  wonder  at 
the  white  men  who  came  to  this  region  in  1607  and 
afterwards,  and  then  began  the  relentless  drive  that 
pushed  back  the  red  men  of  the  forest  to  the  mountains 
which  proved  a  refuge  only  until  later  pioneers  pene- 
trated these  fastnesses  also  in  the  daring  march  to 
the  West. 


CHAPTER  IV 
UP  THE  WINDING  JAMES 

OF  all  the  streams  that  cut  the  Chesapeake  Bay 
region  in  such  interesting  fashion,  the  one 
farthest  south  is  the  James,  which  opens  di- 
rectly into  Hampton  Eoads,  after  its  winding  course 
almost  entirely  across  the  state. 

The  James  is  the  most  historic  and  picturesque  of 
all  Virginia's  rivers,  and  it  is  fortunate  that  the  ride 
from  its  mouth  to  the  head  of  navigation  at  Eichmond 
can  be  taken  by  daylight.  The  diminutive  steamer 
leaves  Hampton  Eoads  after  an  early  breakfast,  and 
all  day  long  it  moves  with  deliberation  toward  Eich- 
mond— grateful  deliberation,  for  who  wants  to  hurry 
over  this  stretch  of  water  where  every  mile  tells  stories 
about  the  men  and  women  who  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  commonwealth  and  the  nation? 

From  the  deck  of  the  river  steamer  the  low-lying 
shore  offers  little  of  appeal.  Yet  interest  is  kept  alive 
by  the  knowledge  that  before  long  Jamestown  Island 
will  be  seen,  and  by  imagining  the  feelings  of  the  brave 
men  and  women  of  the  Susan,  the  Sarah  Constant,  the 
Goodspeed,  and  the  Discovery,  who  faced  maybe 
"Tygers  and  Devouringe  Creatures,"  and  other  dan- 
gers of  which  they  knew  as  little  in  those  old  days 
of  1607. 

The  boat  is  twenty-five  miles  on  its  way  upstream 
when  the  marshes  appear  that  fringe  the  island  where 
these  first  settlers  landed  and  built  their  town. 

50 


UP   THE   WINDING  JAMES 

At  first  the  island  looks  uncared  for,  but  soon  is 
noted  the  sea  wall,  built  to  stop  the  hungry  river's 
appetite  for  the  historic  shore.  Fortunately  the  boat 
stops  at  the  pier  long  enough  for  the  passengers  to  walk 
beyond  the  wall  to  all  that  is  left  of  James  Fort  or 
James  Town,  the  first  permanent  English  settlement  in 
America — the  old  church  tower,  with  the  excavation 
showing  the  outlines  of  the  church,  and  the  tombs  of 
some  of  the  ancient  worthies.  The  ruin  of  a  mansion, 
built  long  after  the  town  was  destroyed,  and  the  Con- 
federate fort  that  dates  from  1861,  are  about  all  that 
can  be  seen — until  the  imagination  is  permitted  to  con- 
jure up  the  picture  of  the  streets,  the  homes,  the  men, 
the  women  and  the  children  of  the  days  before 
Bacon's  Rebellion. 

Seven  miles  from  the  river,  about  due  north  from 
Jamestown,  is  the  site  of  its  successor,  Williamsburg, 
the  Colony's  second  capital.  There  it  is  not  necessary 
to  draw  on  the  imagination,  for  the  town  is  like  a  bit  out 
of  old  England,  with  its  streets  shaded  by  great  trees, 
its  ancient  William  and  Mary  College,  where  Thomas 
Jefferson,  James  Monroe  and  John  Tyler  went  to 
school ;  its  Bruton  Parish  Church,  built  in  1715,  though 
an  earlier  edifice  stood  on  the  site  when  Jamestown  was 
still  flourishing ;  its  Palace  Green,  that  surrounded  the 
home  of  the  Governor;  its  court-house,  whose  stone 
steps  were  brought  from  England  in  1762 ;  its  Powder 
House,  where  Virginia's  supplies  of  powder  were  kept, 
beginning  in  1714 ;  its  tavern,  and  its  many  houses  that 
tell  of  men  who  dared  all  for  liberty  and  of  women, 
who  were  one  with  them  in  their  devotion. 

The  captain  of  the  river  steamer  is  accommodating, 
but  he  does  not  promise  to  wait  while  the  excursion  is 

51 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

taken  to  "Williamsburg ;  he  is  ready  to  go  on  upstream 
toward  Carter's  Grove,  built  by  Carter  Burwell  in 
1751;  Brandon,  with  its  wonderful  garden,  an  estate 
occupied  since  the  days  of  John  Smith;  Westover,  a 
mansion  that  has  survived  the  careless  handling  of 
soldiers  during  two  wars ;  and,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Appomattox,  Shirley,  the  ancient  home  of  the  Carters. 

Theodore  Eoosevelt  called  Westover,  Brandon  and 
Shirley  "three  of  the  dearest  places  you  can  imagine," 
and  added,  "I  do  not  know  whether  I  loved  most  the 
places  themselves  or  the  quaint  out-of-the-world  Vir- 
ginia gentlewomen  there. ' '  But  the  same  thing  might 
be  said  of  a  dozen  other  old-time  houses  that  peep  out 
among  the  trees  along  the  river  or  are  hidden  up  some 
of  the  creeks  that  enter  the  stream. 

Near  Richmond  is  the  Dutch  Gap  Canal,  first  cut  by 
Sir  Thomas  Dale  when  Jamestown  was  in  its  glory. 
To  protect  his  new  settlement  Henrico  from  the  In- 
dians, he  cut  across  a  narrow  peninsula  and  then 
built  fortifications.  Two  hundred  years  later  General 
Butler  spent  five  months  in  enlarging  the  old  ditch.  It 
was  a  gigantic  task;  67,000  yards  of  earth  were  re- 
moved, in  spite  of  a  bitter  fire  from  Confederate  mor- 
tars. The  work  was  completed  by  the  Government  in 
1879,  to  the  joy  of  the  steamboat-men,  who  were  thus 
saved  seven  miles  of  difficult  river  travel. 

The  canal  was  not  cut  when  William  Wirt  told 
delightedly  of  Richmond, '  *  the  town  disposed  over  hills 
of  various  shapes,  the  river  descending  from  west  to 
east,  and  obstructed  by  a  multitude  of  small  islands, 
clumps  of  trees  and  myriads  of  rocks — the  same  river, 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  bending  at  right  angles  to 
the  south  and  traveling  many  miles  in  that  direction. ' ' 

52 


CHIEF   JUSTICE   MARSHALL'S   RESIDENCE,    RICHMOND,    VIRGINIA 


THE    OLD    COURT    HOUSE    AT    "WILLIAMSBURG 
Erected  1769 


UP  THE   WINDING  JAMES 

He  called  the  prospect  from  the  heights  above  the  city, 
* '  one  of  the  most  finely-varied  and  most  animated  land- 
scapes I  have  ever  seen." 

The  charm  of  Eichmond  is  cumulative.  To  see  it 
once  is  to  admire  it ;  to  see  it  a  second  time  is  to  rejoice 
in  it ;  to  see  it  a  third  time  is  to  love  it.  And  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  tell  in  what  is  the  greatest  appeal.  To  some 
it  is  the  wide  view  of  city  and  river  of  which  Wirt 
spoke;  to  others,  it  is  the  Capitol  Square,  on  a  hill  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  whose  crown  is  the  building  de- 
signed by  Thomas  Jefferson  from  the  Maison  Quarre 
at  Nismes ;  still  others  find  it  in  mansions  like  the  White 
House  of  the  Confederacy,  the  John  Marshall  House 
and  the  Archer  House,  or  in  St.  John's  Church,  where 
Patrick  Henry  shouted,  "Give  me  liberty  or  give 
me  death." 

But  whatever  is  given  as  the  secret,  this  city  by  the 
rock-bound  Falls  of  the  James,  this  capital  of  the 
Commonwealth  from  which  so  many  Presidents  came, 
will  always  be  to  many  people  the  central  city  of  the 
South,  the  standard  by  which  to  measure  what  is  most 
desirable  in  civic  life. 

The  advantages  of  Richmond  appealed  to  George 
Washington  long  before  the  Revolution,  but  not  until 
after  the  close  of  the  struggle  was  he  able  to  show  how 
practical  was  his  interest.  Then  he  began  to  think  of 
the  improvement  of  the  James  River.  The  projects 
in  which  he  was  keenly  interested  were  two:  First, 
there  was  the  James  River  Canal,  a  series  of  twelve 
locks  to  connect  the  river  with  a  basin  at  Richmond,  880 
feet  above  tidewater;  from  the  basin  a  canal  two  and 
one-half  miles  long  to  the  river;  and,  farther  on,  a  sec- 
ond short  canal,  with  lock,  around  a  fall  of  34  feet. 

53 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

The  second  project  became  ultimately  the  James 
River  and  Kanawha  Canal  and  Railroad,  which  was  not 
actually  begun  until  1835.  The  whole  length  of  the  canal 
and  railroad,  when  completed  to  the  Ohio,  was  to  be 
about  425  miles. 

The  canal  was  in  use  for  many  years  for  both  pas- 
senger packets  and  cargo  craft.  The  last  of  the 
packets  was  the  Marshall,  which  carried  the  body  of 
Stonewall  Jackson  from  Richmond  to  Lexington. 

To-day  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Railroad,  the  suc- 
cessor of  the  canal,  follows  the  James  all  the  way  to 
Lynchburg,  in  many  places  occupying  the  old  tow- 
path.  From  Lynchburg  it  proceeds  to  a  junction  with 
the  Ohio  River  at  Kenova,  not  far  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Kanawha,  the  objective  point  of  the  early  ambitious 
canal  and  railroad  scheme. 

For  a  portion  of  the  distance  to  Lynchburg  the're  is 
a  fair  automobile  road,  but  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
way  the  railroad  must  be  depended  on,  as  it  leads 
through  some  of  the  Old  Dominion's  most  glorious 
scenery  and  within  easy  reach  of  some  of  the  homes 
and  haunts  of  those  who  helped  to  make  her  history 
and  the  history  of  the  nation. 

Chesterfield  County,  first  to  the  south  after  Rich- 
mond is  left  behind,  is  full  of  the  relics  of  other  days. 
There  is  the  country  known  as  the  site  of  the  first  iron 
works  in  America,  which  have  long  since  disappeared ; 
these  were  built  at  the  mouth  of  Falling  Creek,  which 
enters  the  James  south  of  Richmond.  The  furnace 
depended  on  the  coal  mines  at  Midlothian,  the  first  of 
them  opened  as  early  as  1730.  Traces  of  the  old  pits 
are  still  to  be  noted.  The  fuel  was  used  also  at  Chester- 
field Court  House,  built  in  1749,  where,  in  1779,  George 

54 


UP   THE   WINDING  JAMES 

Rogers  Clark  brought  Hamilton,  British  Governor  of 
Detroit,  as  a  prisoner  of  war.  Perhaps  this  was  the 
reason  for  the  burning  of  the  building  by  the  British 
troops  in  1781.  Fortunately  the  walls  were  not  de- 
stroyed, and  it  was  possible  to  reconstruct  the  edifice. 

Another  reminder  of  the  heroes  of  the  War  of  the 
Revolution  is  Salisbury,  near  Midlothian,  where  Pat- 
rick Henry  made  his  home  while  governor  of  Virginia. 
The  journey  to  and  from  Richmond  must  have  been 
difficult  in  those  days,  but  Henry  continued  to  reside 
there  until  his  landlord  sold  the  property  over  his  head. 

The  landlord,  Thomas  Mann  Randolph,  lived  at 
Tuckahoe  in  Goochland  County,  a  few  miles  north, 
across  the  James.  The  famous  mansion  which  was  his 
home  was  built  by  his  father,  Thomas  Randolph,  in  the 
early  years  of  the  eighteenth  century.  At  his  death  he 
directed  that  a  tutor  should  come  to  Tuckahoe  to  care 
for  his  son.  Peter  Jefferson,  whose  wife  was  a  relative 
of  the  new  owner  of  the  property,  was  appointed  tutor, 
and  when  he  came  to  Tuckahoe  he  brought  with  him  his 
son  Thomas.  Thus  it  came  about  that  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son went  to  school  on  the  plantation.  The  best  of  it  is 
that  the  old  school-house  which  the  author  of  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  attended  is  still  standing, 
perhaps  the  most  interesting  feature  of  the  plantation, 
whose  mansion,  surrounded  by  one  of  the  famous  laby- 
rinth gardens  of  old  Virginia,  is  to  be  seen  from  the 
river,  peeping  through  the  trees. 

At  Cartersville,  in  Cumberland  County,  General 
Robert  E.  Lee,  with  his  family,  landed  in  1865  from 
a  packet  boat  on  the  canal  and  went  six  miles  south  to 
Oakland,  one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  estates  on  the 

55 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

upper  James.  While  in  the  neighborhood  he  received 
the  visitors  from  Lexington  who  asked  him  to  become 
president  of  Washington  College.  At  Oakland  one  of 
the  General's  chief  delights  was  to  stroll  under  the 
grove  of  monster  oaks,  some  of  which  were  more  than 
twenty  feet  in  circumference.  Unfortunately,  these 
trees  were  damaged  by  fire  which,  in  1900,  destroyed  the 
mansion  that  was  built  about  1740  in  the  midst  of  land 
granted  by  George  IT  to  "Bowler  Cocke,  Gentleman." 

One  of  the  early  settlers  who  dared  to  push  on  up 
the  James  was  attracted  by  the  rocky  precipice  on  the 
Goochland  County  side,  not  far  from  Cartersville. 
Here  Tarleton  Fleming  built  his  home  at  such  an  early 
date  that  in  1732  Colonel  William  Byrd  was  able  to 
speak  of  meeting,  at  Tuckahoe,  Mrs.  Fleming,  "on  her 
way  to  join  her  husband  at  Rock  Castle,  thirty  miles 
farther  up  the  river  in  a  part  of  the  country  little  set- 
tled, and  but  lately  redeemed  from  the  wilderness." 

Many  other  pioneers  who  followed  the  Flemings  up 
the  storied  river  have  left  the  records  of  their  home- 
building  along  the  banks  of  the  stream,  all  the  way  to 
Lynchburg  and  even  beyond.  But  the  house  that  is 
dearest  of  all  to  the  hearts  of  loyal  Americans  was 
made  by  the  boy  who  went  to  school  at  Tuckahoe, 
Thomas  Jefferson,  who  was  born  in  Albemarle  County, 
some  miles  north  of  the  James.  He  took  such  delight 
in  the  hills  and  valleys  that  here,  when  Shadwell  was 
burned,  he  built  Monticello  near  by.  The  site  was 
chosen  because  of  the  wonderful  view  from  the  summit 
of  the  sugar-loaf  mountain  above  the  Rivanna.  There 
the  forest  trees  were  cut  down  and,  ten  acres  being 
cleared  and  levelled,  the  mansion  was  erected  after 
Jefferson's  own  plans. 

56 


MONTICELLO,    NEAR    CHARLOTTESVILLE,    VIRGINIA 
The  home  of  Thomas  Jefferson.     Designed  by  himself 


r 


THREE    SISTERS    MOUNTAINS,    VIRGINIA 


UP  THE   WINDING  JAMES 

The  eminence  chosen  by  the  man  who  became  the 
Sage  of  Monticello  is  a  point  of  the  ridge  known  as  the 
Southwest  Mountains  of  Virginia,  which  extend 
through  the  heart  of  Albemarle  County  to  the  James. 
These  rugged  hills,  the  highest  of  them  known  as 
Peter's  Mount,  for  the  father  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  was 
long  the  western  limit  of  civilization. 

It  was  one  of  Jefferson's  chief  joys  to  look  off  to 
the  Blue  Eidge,  more  than  twenty  miles  to  the  west. 
Another  delight  was  to  direct  the  construction  of  his 
estate,  which  he  declared  was  "the  garden  spot  of 
Virginia,  where  the  season  is  two  or  three  weeks  in 
advance  of  the  level  country  near  at  hand. ' ' 

From  the  southeast  corner  of  the  terrace  at  Monti- 
cello  he  was  accustomed  to  watch  the  workmen  engaged 
on  the  first  buildings  of  the  University  of  Virginia, 
buildings  also  planned  by  himself.  In  1825  he  had  the 
keen  pleasure  of  going  down  from  Monticello  to  the 
opening  of  this  child  of  his  heart. 

The  prospect  from  the  terrace  became  even  dearer 
to  Jefferson  during  the  months  he  was  still  to  pass 
there  before  his  death  in  1826.  Often  his  eyes  turned 
to  the  south  where  the  James  swept  down  with  steadily 
increasing  flow  from  Lynchburg,  the  city  "set  upon 
seven  hills  of  a  most  unnecessary  steepness,"  as  one 
visitor  has  said,  with  humor  that  revealed  his  affec- 
tion for  the  thriving  city  of  beautiful  homes  and  busy 
mills  and  factories.  One  of  the  assets  of  the  city  is 
the  natural  water  power  so  generously  supplied  by 
the  river  narrowed  by  confining  cliffs  that  add  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  surroundings. 

The  river  becomes  wider  as  the  ascent  is  made 
toward  Natural  Bridge,  part  of  the  way  through  the 

57 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

heart  of  the  Natural  Bridge  National  Forest.  On  either 
side  are  summits  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  while  rocks  and 
springs  and  mountain  roads  invite  on  every  hand. 
Near  Glasgow,  Balcony  Falls  gives  further  promise  of 
what  is  in  store  for  those  who  leave  the  river,  the  turn- 
pike and  the  railroad  and  follow  the  fifty  miles  of 
well-graded  trails — a  foretaste  of  what  the  Forest 
Service  plans  to  do  for  the  pleasure  of  the  people  who 
own  the  forest  area. 

Some  of  the  trails  lead  along  the  near  summit  of 
the  Blue  Ridge,  which  divides  the  forest  from  north 
to  south.  Along  this  dividing  line  are  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  peaks  east  of  the  Rockies.  Go  to  the  Peaks 
of  Otter  or  Apple  Orchard  Mountain  or  Thunder  Hill 
or  Arnold  Valley — or,  better,  go  to  them  all.  Look  as 
opportunity  offers  down  at  the  valley  of  the  James, 
far  below.  Take  a  side  trip  to  Natural  Bridge.  Then 
see  if  you  will  not  either  have  to  lengthen  your  vaca- 
tion or  come  back  another  year  to  go  on  with  what 
you  have  only  begun ! 

A  rival  of  Balcony  Falls,  the  introduction  to  the 
beauties  of  the  Natural  Bridge  Forest  to  those  who 
come  by  the  James  River  route,  is  Augusta  Springs  in 
Augusta  County,  where  the  Forest  Department  plans 
to  extend  the  Natural  Bridge  vacation  area.  There  are 
many  falls  in  America,  but  nowhere  is  there  a  series 
of  falls  like  Augusta  Springs,  on  the  upper  sources  of 
the  North  Fork  of  the  James.  Jefferson  feasted  his 
eyes  on  the  long  leap  of  the  waters  from  the  rock,  fol- 
lowed by  the  scores  of  smaller  falls  over  the  boulders 
below,  and  modern  visitors  follow  him  in  their  delight 
at  the  inspiring  sight,  which  seems  a  combination  of  a 
Yosemite  fall  and  a  Yellowstone  cascade. 

58 


UP  THE   WINDING  JAMES 

What  a  National  Park  this  section  of  Virginia  would 
make !  It  would  take  in  the  marvelous  series  of  springs 
that  dot  the  country  to  the  west  and  southwest  of 
Augusta  Springs — Warm  Springs,  and  Hot  Springs, 
Healing  Springs  and  Millboro  Springs,  Eockbridge 
Alum  Springs,  and  Sweet  Chalybeate  Springs,  Virginia 
Hot  Springs  and  Stribling  Springs — yes,  and  more,  too 
— springs  that  lured  early  health-seekers  into  the  heart 
of  the  Blue  Ridge  and  beyond,  and  made  social  centers 
even  of  White  Sulphur  Springs  and  Old  Sweet  Springs 
in  what  is  now  West  Virginia. 

More  than  a  century  ago  travelers  began  to  toil  to 
these  life-giving  springs,  and  feasted  their  souls  on 
the  inspiring  reaches  of  mountain  and  forest  and  river 
that  led  to  them  and  are  seen  from  them,  and  every 
year  for  generations  since  these  pioneers  have  had  their 
successors.  By  rail,  by  stage  and  by  motor  they  come. 
They  rejoice  in  the  air,  the  mountains  and  the  green 
growth  everywhere.  They  turn,  it  may  be  to  fish  in 
the  rushing  streams  or  to  hunt  in  the  coverts  nature 
has  provided  with  prodigal  hand.  And  they  wonder 
why  men  do  not  seek  this  easily-found  "  Switzerland 
of  America. ' ' 


CHAPTER  V 

THROUGH  THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

IT  is  good  to  travel  through  North  Carolina,  but  it 
is  better  still  to  remain  a  while  in  this  land  of 
sturdy  men  and  smiling  women,  where  the  flowers 
bloom  profusely  and  the  cotton  grows  luxuriantly; 
where  a  man  on  horseback  is  not  a  novelty;  where  al- 
most every  house,  small  or  large,  has  its  inviting  porch 
or  verandah,  sometimes  seemingly  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  the  size  of  the  building;  where  the  high-power 
electric  lines  that  feed  the  cotton  mills  and  other  manu- 
facturing establishments  tell  of  the  tremendous  hydro- 
electric development  in  a  country  bountifully  supplied 
with  streams  that  hurry  down  from  the  mountains  to 
the  plateau  and  then  to  the  sea. 

Though  many  of  the  rivers  are  navigable  for  a  long 
distance  from  their  mouths  the  obstacle-conquering 
Carolinians  many  years  ago  made  up  their  minds  that 
they  must  have  other  means  of  transportation,  and  of 
the  best.  So  they  not  only  talked  of  good  roads,  but 
they  began  valiantly  to  improve  country  highways.  In 
fact,  the  state  is  a  splendid  advertisement  for  good 
roads,  not  only  because  it  has  hundreds  of  miles  of  fine 
macadam  pavement,  but  because,  on  a  rainy  day,  it  has 
so  many  samples  of  the  slippery,  slimy,  slovenly  red 
and  yellow  clay  roads  that  the  smooth,  hard  pave- 
ments— steadily  increasing  in  number — seem  all  the 
more  delightful  by  contrast.  And  the  best  of  it  is  that 
there  is  constant  evidence  of  a  definite  program  of  road 

60 


THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

improvement.  To  a  motorist  there  is  something  grati- 
fying, inspiring  in  the  sight  of  a  road  roller — that  is, 
unless  it  stands  straight  across  his  path  with  the  stern 
mandate,  "Detour,"  and  he  has  no  alternative  but  one 
of  the  aforementioned  slippery,  slimy  roads  of  clay. 

But  even  on  a  rainy  day  the  hill  country  of  Western 
North  Carolina  well  repays  the  traveler  who  keeps 
both  eyes  open.  Green  slopes  and  pleasant  valleys  are 
everywhere.  Most  unexpectedly  the  way  leads  to  at- 
tractively named  streams,  whose  red  floods  call  up 
long-forgotten  memories  of  school  days  when  the 
teacher's  stern  request,  "Name  three  rivers  of  North 
Carolina,"  caused  a  sinking  sensation  in  the  region 
of  the  ribs.  Why  couldn't  we  remember  the  Yadkin, 
that  reluctantly  leaves  the  mountains  and  then  twists 
and  turns  in  astonishing  fashion  as  if  eager  to  form  a 
boundary  of  as  many  counties  as  possible?  Why 
should  the  Catawba  elude  us  when  it  is  anything  but 
elusive  in  this  country  of  the  hills  ?  Surely  Deep  River 
is  easily  remembered,  if  only  because  another  name 
might  seem  truer  to  the  facts ! 

But  rivers  supply  only  a  portion  of  the  pleasures 
of  those  who  are  determined  to  see  things  even  on  a 
rainy  day.  Everywhere  are  villages  and  towns  where 
there  is  perhaps  a  greater  contrast  than  in  the  average 
towns  of  the  north  between  the  homes  of  the  poor  and 
those  of  the  well-to-do,  many  of  the  latter  having  the 
great  portico  whose  white  columns  speak  eloquently 
of  the  fact  that  those  who  live  there  have  not  forgotten 
the  traditions  of  old-time  Southern  hospitality.  Here 
and  there  the  bright  lights  of  the  cotton  mills  and  the 
muffled  noise  of  the  spindles  tell  of  the  industry  that  is 
doing  its  part  for  the  continued  development  of  a  pro- 

61 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

gressive  state.  Beyond  the  cotton  mills  lie  the  rem- 
nants of  forests  of  other  days,  where  deciduous  trees 
mingle  with  the  graceful  pines.  The  junior  pines  creep 
out  to  the  roadside  and  help  the  luxuriant  vines  to 
clothe  with  green  banks  whose  staring  surface  of  red 
earth  might  in  time  prove  disconcerting. 

The  pleasure  given  by  those  North  Carolina  hills 
is  all  the  greater  because  they  insist  on  bringing  up 
memories  of  the  men  and  women  of  the  past,  the  hardy 
settlers  who  pushed  on  from  the  seacoast  because  they 
would  conquer  the  wilderness,  who  were  a  strong  tower 
in  the  darkest  days  of  the  Eevolution,  who  supplied 
numbers  of  pioneers  in  the  mountain-crossing,  dis- 
tance-defying, hardship-conquering  days  of  the  col- 
onization of  the  western  wilderness. 

In  its  diagonal  course  across  South  Carolina,  all 
the  way  from  the  Dan  River  to- King's  Mountain,  the 
Southern  Eailway  traverses  a  region  that,  in  addition 
to  being  notable  for  real  beauty,  is  steeped  in  the  lore 
of  these  heroic  days  of  long  ago.  On  the  Dan,  just 
over  the  line  in  Virginia,  is  Danville,  where  General 
Nathanael  Greene  crossed  in  1781,  while  to  the  south- 
west, near  Greensboro,  is  the  site  of  Guilford  Court 
House,  where  the  troops  of  Lord  Cornwallis  were  de- 
feated on  March  15  of  that  year  by  the  men  under 
General  Greene.  Thus  was  added  another  triumph  to 
the  credit  of  the  Colonies,  which  began  to  take  heart 
once  more.  In  consequence  of  events  like  this,  John 
Adams  wrote  to  Benjamin  Franklin,  "I  think  the 
Southern  States  will  have  the  honor,  after  all,  of  put- 
ting us  in  the  right  way  of  finishing  the  business  of 
the  war." 

Almost  directly  west  of  the  battle-ground  in  Guil- 

62 


THE    OLD    CABIN    HOME 


RAZOR   BACK    HOGS    IN    NORTH    CAROLINA 


THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

ford  County  that  did  so  much  to  turn  the  tide  of  the 
Revolution  is  Winston-Salem,  a  thriving  city  in  the 
midst  of  a  prosperous  and  picturesque  country,  whose 
romantic  history  goes  back  a  generation  before  the 
days  of  Greene  and  Cornwallis.  In  the  fall  of  1752 
the  Moravian  Bishop  Spangenburg  looked  for  a  home 
where  his  followers  could  live  in  peace  and  labor  for 
the  Indians,  and  came  to  the  North  Carolina  wilder- 
ness, journeying  from  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania. 
Charmed  by  the  region  of  which  Winston-Salem  is  now 
the  metropolis,  he  bought  a  section  about  ten  miles 
square,  and  arranged  for  the  residence  of  hundreds 
of  Moravians  in  what  was  later  called  Wachovia. 

The  story  of  the  journey  of  the  first  inhabitants 
from  their  Pennsylvania  home  is  an  epic  worthy  of 
more  detailed  treatment  than  the  matter-of-fact  history 
of  Wachovia  gives  to  it.  After  crossing  the  Susque- 
hanna  and  the  Potomac,  they  came  down  the  Shenan- 
doah  to  Augusta  Court  House  (now  Staunton),  thus 
becoming  forerunners  in  a  score  of  movements  to  and 
fro  in  this  favored  region,  each  of  which  has  had  its 
part  in  the  history  of  the  nation.  The  way  became  even 
more  difficult  as  they  followed  the  course  of  the  Mayo 
to  the  Dan  and  on  to  the  border  of  Wachovia,  their 
promised  land. 

That  sounds  simple  enough.  Very  likely  such  a 
journey  would  be  simple  to-day.  But  in  those  days  of 
unbroken  forests  and  unbridged  streams  progress  was 
far  from  easy.  The  hills  were  too  steep  for  the  heavily- 
laden  wagons,  and  it  was  necessary  for  the  men  to 
carry  the  loads  up  the  slopes  while  the  empty  vehicles 
followed  carefully.  Even  the  descent  was  a  problem 
that  found  no  solution  until  the  resourceful  pioneers 

63 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

devised  a  way  to  retard  the  loaded  wagons;  locked 
wheels  were  assisted  by  a  dragging  tree  cut  from  the 
forest  and  fastened  to  the  rear  of  each  wagon. 

The  short,  rainy  days  of  November,  1753,  came  be- 
fore the  long  journey  was  done.  Cold  and  hunger 
added  to  the  burdens  of  the  pilgrims.  However,  all 
hardships  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  joy  of  making  the 
wilderness  fruitful.  The  twentieth  century  visitor  is 
reminded  of  the  struggles  as  he  passes  through  Beth- 
ania,  or  hears  of  Bethabara,  the  first  town,  older  than 
Salem  by  a  number  of  years. 

Salem,  founded  in  1766  in  the  heart  of  their  hold- 
ings, speedily  became  a  center  of  primitive  manufac- 
tures that  fed  the  remarkable  wagon  commerce 
directed  toward  centers  as  far  away  as  Charleston, 
South  Carolina. 

Salem  was  a  year  old  when  Governor  Tryon  turned 
curious  steps  to  "Wachovia,  but  he  was  entertained  at 
Bethabara.  While  there  he  urged  the  sending  of  a 
representative  to  the  legislature,  and  formed  such  a 
high  opinion  of  the  colony  within  a  colony  that,  when 
discontented  Regulators,  defeated  at  the  Alamance  in 
their  efforts  to  oppose  him,  fled  to  Wachovia  for  refuge, 
he  refused  to  take  vengeance  on  the  Moravians,  though 
there  were  not  lacking  those  who  questioned  their  loy- 
alty. Later,  under  guard  of  three  thousand  soldiers, 
he  watched  the  trial  of  the  fugitives,  many  of  whom 
took  the  oath  of  allegiance  and  were  pardoned. 

In  1849  Salem  gained  as  neighbor  the  town  of  Win- 
ston, founded  as  the  county-seat  of  the  new  county  of 
Forsyth,  on  fifty-one  acres  sold  for  this  purpose  by  the 
Moravians  at  five  dollars  per  acre.  Both  towns  grew 
rapidly,  and  in  1913  they  became  Winston-Salem,  a  city 

64 


THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

whose  growth  is  no  more  remarkable  than  the  phenom- 
enal activity  of  its  business  and  industrial  section  or 
the  dignified  beauty  and  stately  repose  of  the  old 
Moravian  town. 

But  the  visitor  to  this  section  of  North  Carolina  is 
not  through  treading  on  historic  ground  when  he  goes 
to  the  south  of  Winston-Salem  and  Guilford  Court 
House.  For  not  far  away  is  Rowan  County,  famous 
for  the  women  associated  during  the  Revolution  under 
pledge  "not  to  receive  the  addresses  of  any  young  gen- 
tlemen .  .  .  the  ladies  being  of  opinion  that  such 
persons  as  stay  loitering  at  home,  when  the  important 
calls  of  their  country  demand  their  military  service 
abroad,  must  certainly  be  destitute  of  that  nobleness  of 
sentiment,  that  brave,  manly  spirit  which  would  qual- 
ify them  to  be  the  defenders  and  guardians  of  the 
fair  sex." 

Still  farther  south  is  sturdy  Charlotte,  in  Mecklen- 
burg, where,  on  May  20,  1775,  following  the  battle  of 
Lexington,  that  famous  document,  the  Mecklenburg 
Declaration,  was  adopted,  more  than  a  year  before  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  signed.  In  this  bold 
paper  the  citizens  of  Mecklenburg  declared  that  they 
1 1  do  hereby  dissolve  the  political  bonds  which  have  con- 
nected us  to  the  Mother  Country. ' '  Then  they  went  a 
step  further,  by  declaring  themselves  "a  free  and  in- 
dependent people. ' ' 

In  Charlotte  they  point  out  the  spot  where  the 
patriots  gathered  to  frame  their  resolution — Indepen- 
dence Square,  at  the  intersection  of  two  of  the  princi- 
pal streets.  Not  far  away  are  the  old  oaks  that  mark 
the  site  of  the  headquarters  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  who 
honored  the  citizens  of  Mecklenburg  by  calling  them 

5  65 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Hornets,  and  gave  double  honor  to  Charlotte  by  speak- 
ing of  it  as  "The  Hornets'  Nest."  Both  sites  are 
centers  of  special  interest  annually  on  May  20,  which 
is  a  state  holiday  to  celebrate  the  action  of  the  Hornets 
in  resisting  oppression. 

"While  Charlotte  is  proud  of  her  past,  her  people 
rejoice  in  a  present  of  unexampled  prosperity.  Their 
claim  that  their  city — whose  growth  from  comparative 
insignificance  has  been  a  matter  of  but  fifteen  years — is 
"the  commercial  center  of  the  two  Carolinas"  has  a 
substantial  basis.  Certainly  the  cotton  mills  and  the 
hydro-electric  development  of  which  the  city  is  the 
center  make  the  community  remarkable;  so  do  the 
homes,  both  modest  and  pretentious,  that  bear  witness 
to  her  statement  that  she  has  more  home-owners  in 
proportion  to  population  than  any  other  city  in 
the  country. 

Charlotte  does  not  divide  honors  with  any  neighbor 
because  of  commercial  development,  but  in  historic  mat- 
ters she  has  a  worthy  associate  a  little  to  the  west — 
King's  Mountain,  where,  in  1780,  the  spirited  frontiers- 
men, after  their  forced  march  over  the  mountains,  as 
noted  in  another  chapter,  faced  the  surprised  Major 
Ferguson,  who  had  defied  them,  and  taught  him  to  re- 
spect men  who  were  fighting  for  home  and  country. 

Altogether  North  Carolina  has  a  tremendous  past 
to  live  up  to — and  she  can  do  it.  Hers  has  always  been 
a  history  of  earnestness  and  devotion,  not  only  during 
the  days  of  the  Revolution,  but  in  the  trying  days  of 
the  sixties — days  that  inspired  the  memorable  words 
of  President  Taft: 

"I  would  not  have  the  South  give  up  a  single  one 
of  her  noble  traditions.  I  would  not  have  her  abate 

66 


THE  HEART  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 

a  single  bit  of  the  deep  pride  she  feels  in  all  her  great 
heroes  that  represented  her  in  that  awful  struggle  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South;  but  I  would  have  the 
whole  country  know,  as  I  believe  the  South  is  growing 
herself  to  know,  that  it  is  possible  to  preserve  all  these 
traditions  intact  and  have  a  warm  and  deeply  loyal 
love  of  the  old  flag  to  which  she  has  come  back,  and  to 
know  that  the  North  respects  her  for  those  traditions 
she  preserves,  and  does  not  ask  her  to  discard  one ;  but 
only  wishes  to  unite  with  her  in  the  benefits  of  a  com- 
mon cause,  and  of  a  sympathy  and  association  between 
the  peoples  of  the  two  sections  that  will  certainly  lead 
us  to  a  greater  and  greater  future." 

Yet  this  is  the  region  where  a  youth  of  seventeen, 
wise  in  his  own  eyes,  said  wearily,  as  he  looked  from 
the  car  window :  "Let  it  rain ;  there  is  nothing  to  see  in 
this  country  anyway.  I've  been  over  it  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  it  is  too  monotonous  for  words." 

There  are  people  who  can  magnificently,  completely 
fail  to  see  anything  attractive,  even  in  North  Carolina ! 


CHAPTER  VI 
"  THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY  " 

THOSE  who  wonder  why  the  Cherokee  Indians 
resisted  so  strenuously  all  efforts  to  remove 
them  from  the  western  part  of  North  Carolina 
need  only  to  make  a  visit  to  that  glorious  region  where 
everything  combines  in  bewildering  fashion  to  make  the 
renowned  Sapphire  Country.  A  score  of  counties  in 
the  state,  together  with  a  small  region  in  East  Ten- 
nessee, and  a  little  finger  of  territory  in  Georgia  and 
South  Carolina,  constitute  this  territory  that  is  one 
of  the  marvels  of  America.  It  is  a  table-land,  between 
the  Blue  Eidge  and  the  Unaka  or  Great  Smoky  Moun- 
tains, crossed  by  tributary  ranges  and  crowned  by 
majestic  peaks.  It  is  a  labyrinth  of  brawling  brooks 
and  leaping  rivers  that  come  from  the  springs  on  the 
mountain  side,  flow  restlessly  along  valleys  and  gorges, 
and  force  their  way  through  rocky  barriers  in  titanic 
gaps.  It  is  a  great  park  where  grows  nearly  every 
variety  of  wood  known  east  of  the  Eocky  Mountains, 
as  well  as  a  bewildering  array  of  plants  and  shrubs — 
ferns  in  bountiful  profusion,  laurel  in  groves,  rhododen- 
dron in  thickets,  azaleas  in  numbers  undreamed  of.  It 
is  a  hunting  ground  where  the  sportsman  will  leap  for 
joy,  and  a  fishing  territory  of  boundless  wealth.  It  is 
a  vast  pleasure  area  of  such  infinite  variety  and  com- 
pelling charm  that  it  seems  strange  its  fame  does  not 
draw  a  hundred  people  for  every  one  who  now  enters 
its  borders.  It  is  a  compact  area  of  a  few  thousand 

68 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

square  miles  where  there  are  peaks  yet  unclimbed, 
gorges  still  unknown  to  the  explorer,  valleys  hidden 
away  among  the  mountains  and  visited  only  by  a  few. 

Most  people,  if  asked  about  the  location  of  the  high- 
est region  east  of  the  Rockies,  would  be  apt  to  speak  of 
the  White  Mountains.  But  in  the  Southern  Appala- 
chians, according  to  the  United  States  Geological  Sur- 
vey, "two  hundred  and  eighty-eight  peaks  exceed  a 
height  of  five  thousand  feet,  and  twenty-seven  peaks 
have  an  elevation  greater  than  Mount  Washington 
(6293  feet)."  Of  the  twenty-five  peaks  in  the  Black 
Mountains,  eighteen  are  more  than  six  thousand  feet 
high.  There  are  in  the  Balsam  Mountains  twenty-three 
summits  exceeding  six  thousand  feet.  There  are  other 
ranges  of  not  much  less  altitude.  And  the  outlook  from 
the  heights  and  in  the  valleys  between  is  something,  once 
seen,  to  be  remembered  always.  To  quote  once  more 
the  words  of  the  investigators  of  the  Geological  Sur- 
vey :  "The  scenery  of  the  Southern  Appalachian  region 
is  the  grandest  in  the  Eastern  States.  While  in  height 
the  mountains  can  hardly  be  compared  with  the  Rockies 
or  the  Alps,  they  far  outstrip  in  height,  massiveness 
and  extent  the  mountains  of  the  Northeastern  States. 
As  one  ascends  Roan  Mountain  or  Grandfather  Moun- 
tain, or  passes  through  Hickory  Nut  Gap,  he  is  strongly 
reminded  of  the  scenery  of  Switzerland,  and  might  well 
imagine  that  he  was  on  the  Rigi  or  the  Pilatus." 

That  the  superb  appeal  of  the  region  may  continue, 
and  the  number  of  visitors  attracted  to  it  increase,  the 
Government  has  taken  steps  to  protect  the  water- 
courses, to  show  to  those  who  delight  to  follow  the  mys- 
terious trail  the  way  to  the  mountain  fastnesses,  and  to 
make  easy  the  progress  of  those  who  choose  a  less 

69 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

strenuous  method  of  visiting  the  heights.  Congress  has 
set  apart  as  the  Appalachian  Park  Reserve  a  region  to 
which  Asheville  is  the  gateway,  has  created  nine  or  ten 
national  forests — of  which  the  Boone,  the  Mount 
Mitchell,  the  Pisgah,  and  the  Nantahala  are  in  North 
Carolina — and  is  carrying  out  a  program  of  road  con- 
struction that  will,  in  time,  afford  access  to  spots  that 
now  are  remote  and  difficult  of  approach. 

Not  so  long  ago  few  attempted  to  reach  this  moun- 
tain territory  except  from  the  east  or  the  south,  and 
still  the  first  thought  of  those  who  plan  the  journey  of 
untold  delight  is  apt  to  be  to  follow  in  the  steps  of  the 
pioneer,  where  the  railroad  long  ago  replaced  the  stage- 
coach. But  those  who  wish  to  steal  into  the  heart  of 
the  mountains  from  a  new  direction  should  start  from 
Elkhorn  City,  Kentucky,  close  to  the  border  of  Vir- 
ginia, on  the  delightful  Carolina,  Clinchfield  and  Ohio 
Eailway.  The  route  leads  across  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  and  then  through  the  Clinch  Mountains  to 
Johnson  City,  Tennessee,  where  the  East  Tennessee 
and  Western  North  Carolina  Railroad  and  the  Linville 
River  Railway  may  be  taken  to  the  left,  or  the  journey 
may  be  continued  on  the  Clinchfield  road.  If  there  is 
time,  both  roads  should  be  used;  it  is  impossible  to 
choose  between  the  visions  that  greet  the  passenger 
along  these  routes.  The  Clinchfield  road  keeps  close 
to  the  rugged  trail  of  Daniel  Boone,  first  along  the 
Nolichucky  River,  then  up  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  Doe 
River.  The  road  to  the  Linville  River  passes  at  once 
into  historic  ground.  For  ten  miles  from  Johnson  City 
the  way  is  along  the  Watauga  River,  coming  at  length 
to  Elizabethton,  where  Andrew  Jackson,  under  a 
spreading  sycamore  tree,  held  the  first  sessions  of  the 

70 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

Supreme  Court  of  Tennessee.  Three  miles  from  the 
same  town  were  born  the  Taylor  brothers,  Alf 
and  Bob,  once  rival  candidates  for  the  governorship 
of  Tennessee. 

Then  comes  the  great  gorge  where  the  Doe  has  cut 
its  way  through  the  rock  to  a  depth  of  hundreds  of  feet. 
For  a  distance  of  five  miles  the  view  from  the  window 
of  the  train  is  down  to  the  rushing  stream  below  or  up 
the  almost  precipitous  side  of  the  canyon  to  the 
blue  sky. 

Far  above  the  Doe,  Koan  Mountain,  on  the  border 
between  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee,  lifts  its  bald 
top,  marked  by  the  absence  of  the  trees  that  clothe  it 
almost  to  the  summit.  Those  who  persevere  in  their 
purpose  to  reach  the  height  may  look  out  into  the  won- 
derful Valley  of  East  Tennessee,  a  continuation  of  the 
Valley  of  Virginia,  drained  by  the  winding  Holston. 
To  eastward  there  is  a  panorama  of  valley  and  moun- 
tain, of  mountain  beyond  mountain,  a  panorama  so 
wealthy  that  the  beholder  does  not  require  much  imagi- 
nation to  decide  that  he  can  see  far  away  to  the  locality 
where  mountains  become  hills,  where  hills  become  mere 
slopes,  all  the  way  to  Pilot  Mountain  in  Surry  County, 
the  strange  formation  that  seems  like  a  last  attempt  of 
the  Blue  Eidge  to  triumph  over  the  valleys. 

To  the  west  and  the  south  of  Eoan  Mountain  is  a 
region  of  riches  for  the  lover  of  nature  as  well  as  for 
the  student  of  history.  Down  in  Burke  County  is  Lin- 
ville  Falls,  where  the  Linville,  tributary  of  the  Catawba,, 
leaps  over  a  precipice  after  crowding  through  a  narrow 
passage.  Not  far  away,  Altapass  rests  on  a  spur  of 
Old  Humpback  Mountain,  while  to  the  north  Grand- 
father Mountain  rises,  as  one  traveler  said,  like  the 

71 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

pommel  of  a  saddle.  Linville  Gap  is  the  seat  of  the 
saddle,  while  the  rear  of  the  saddle  is  formed  by  the 
lower  heights  of  Dunvegan.  The  region  is  all  the  more 
remarkable  because,  within  a  few  rods  of  one  another, 
are  the  headwaters  of  the  Watauga  and  the  Linville. 
The  latter  stream  enters  the  Catawba,  then  goes  by  way 
of  the  Wateree  and  the  Santee  to  the  Atlantic,  while 
the  former  proceeds  through  the  Holston  and  the  Ten- 
nessee to  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi  and  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico. 

From  the  slopes  of  Grandfather  Mountain  come 
other  streams.  On  the  north  slope  are  the  headwaters 
of  the  South  Fork  of  New  River,  which  flows  through 
Virginia  and  on  into  West  Virginia,  and  to  the  Ohio 
River.  On  the  southern  slopes  are  the  beginnings  of 
the  Yadkin,  which,  in  South  Carolina,  becomes  the 
Peedee  Eiver. 

Out  of  the  rock  on  the  south  side  of  Grandfather 
has  been  cut  a  portion  of  the  famous  Yonahlossee  Road, 
from  Linville  to  Blowing  Rock,  a  distance  of  about 
eighteen  miles,  all  at  an  elevation  of  from  four  to  five 
thousand  feet.  Along  the  way  the  view  is  tremendously 
impressive,  but  perhaps  the  most  outstanding  features 
are  the  two  falls  in  Green  Mountain  Creek,  above  and 
below  the  road,  and  the  Leaning  Rock,  which  rises  to  a 
height  of  about  one  hundred  feet,  in  three  blocks,  look- 
ing as  if  they  had  been  poised  one  on  the  other.  A  great 
crack  in  the  top  section  is  noticeable  as  far  as  the 
rocks  can  be  seen. 

The  town  of  Blowing  Rock,  east  of  Grandfather,  be- 
cause of  its  altitude  of  4090  feet,  can  boast  of  being 
the  highest  town  in  the  state.  But  its  people  prefer 
to  talk  of  the  Tryon  Mountain  and  Grandfather,  of 

72 


THE  LAND  OF   THE  SKY 

Hawk's  Bill  and  Table  Eock,  and  the  Lost  Cliffs,  as 
well  as  of  the  scores  of  dips  and  swales  that  come  be- 
tween the  heights.  The  town  takes  its  name  from  the 
Blowing  Eock,  a  cliff  whose  configuration  is  such  that 
when  the  northwest  wind  blows  one  may  throw  over 
the  edge  his  hat  or  his  coat  and  it  will  be  blown  back. 

Much  of  the  country  is  as  wild  as  it  was  in  the  days 
of  the  wilderness-breakers  who  pushed  through  these 
mountains  on  their  triumphant  way  to  Tennessee  and 
Kentucky.  Like  the  Indians,  they  followed  the  course 
of  the  streams.  The  French  Broad  was  a  favorite  with 
these  early  travelers,  and  it  has  since  been  chosen  by 
railway  engineers,  and  is  now  sought  by  vacation- 
seekers,  who  may  trace  the  road's  windings  for  sixty- 
five  miles  from  Newport,  Tennessee,  to  Asheville ;  from 
the  Valley  of  East  Tennessee  to  the  heart  of  the  Land 
of  the  Sky ;  along  smiling  valleys ;  among  the  ambitious 
green  foothills;  across  yawning  chasms;  steadily  up, 
up,  up,  to  a  point  where  there  is  a  gratifying  view  to  the 
south  of  the  sky-piercing  peaks  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains.  Just  before  the  North  Carolina  line  is 
crossed  it  threads  five  miles  of  twisting,  climbing  curves 
that  seem  to  have  entered  into  a  conspiracy  as  to  which 
can  give  the  traveler  the  best  glimpse  of  valley  and 
stream  and  mountain. 

The  crossing  of  the  line  is  made  memorable  by  the 
sight  of  Paint  Eock,  the  overhanging  formation,  bril- 
liant and  varied,  that  seems  to  threaten  all  who  pass 
beneath.  Ten  miles  to  the  south  The  Chimneys,  twice 
as  high  as  Paint  Eock,  lift  their  strangely-formed  heads 
to  the  sky.  From  this  point  it  is  difficult  to  resist  longer 
the  lofty  barrier  of  the  Great  Smokies  that  stretches 
southwest  sixty-five  miles,  down  to  the  gap  through 

73 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

which  the  Little  Tennessee  finds  its  way.  In  the  entire 
distance  there  is  but  one  peak  lower  than  five  thousand 
feet ;  this  is  where  the  Big  Pigeon  sweeps  to  the  south 
to  its  meeting  with  the  French  Broad  near  Newport. 
In  this  range  there  are  nineteen  peaks  more  than  six 
thousand  feet  high,  while  fourteen  others  approach 
within  four  hundred  feet  of  this  figure. 

The  range  is  distinguished  by  the  bald  summits  of 
many  of  the  peaks.  The  balsams  grow  to  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  top.  Then,  as  if  the  wind  had  triumphed 
over  them,  they  give  way  to  the  luxuriant  grass- 
meadows,  some  of  these  as  large  as  a  thousand  acres. 

The  greatest  bald  of  all  is  Clingman's  Dome.  Its 
6660-foot  summit  offers  a  tremendous  prospect  wher- 
ever the  beholder  turns.  To  the  north  is  the  Valley 
of  East  Tennessee,  where  the  French  Broad  and  the 
Holston  reign  among  the  hills  and  along  the  uplands, 
where  fertile  farms  and  inviting  villages  dot  the  land- 
scape. Away  to  the  east  and  northeast  are  the  Bald,  the 
Black,  the  Balsam,  the  Cowie  and  the  Nantahala  ranges, 
while  to  the  south  Tuckaseegee  River,  Nantahala 
Eiver  and  the  Little  Tennessee  wind  back  into  the  mys- 
terious region  down  toward  the  South  Carolina  border. 

In  the  country  to  the  south  the  Cherokees  made  their 
last  stand.  When  their  efforts  to  resist  removal  proved 
in  vain,  a  number  of  forts  were  built  where  they  were 
to  be  counted.  Fort  Scott  was  at  Aquone,  on  the  east 
bank  of  the  upper  Nantahala,  while  Fort  Lindsay  was 
at  Almond,  where  that  river  joins  the  Little  Tennessee. 
Some  of  the  braves,  together  with  their  squaws,  were 
taken  to  Fort  Hembrie,  on  a  branch  of  Tusquitee  Creek. 
Others  were  taken  to  Fort  Montgomery  on  Long  Creek, 
or  to  Fort  Butler  out  on  Valley  Eiver. 

74 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

There  was  also  a  stockade  where  the  Tuckaseegee 
encounters  the  Little  Tennessee.  It  is  still  a  tradition 
in  the  neighborhood  that  to  this  stronghold  were  taken 
Tsali,  or  Charley,  an  old  Cherokee  brave,  together  with 
a  number  of  his  relatives — men,  women  and  children. 
The  squaws  managed  to  secrete  knives  and  hatchets. 
Next  day,  when  they  had  gone  down  the  Little  Ten- 
nessee as  far  as  the  mouth  of  Tuskeegee  Creek,  the  con- 
cealed weapons  were  used  on  the  soldiers  with  deadly 
effect.  In  the  confusion  the  captives  escaped  into  the 
recesses  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains. 

Two  versions  are  given  of  the  sequel.  One  tells  of 
the  capture  and  death  of  Tsali,  after  a  long  pursuit; 
the  other  says  that  the  authorities  promised  a  leader 
of  the  Indians  that  if  he  would  give  up  Tsali  and  his 
band,  he,  with  his  company  of  about  one  thousand 
Cherokees,  would  be  permitted  to  remain  in  the  country 
they  were  so  loth  to  yield.  Learning  of  this  proposition, 
Tsali  gave  himself  up  for  the  benefit  of  his  people. 
Authorities  at  Washington  have  been  asked  to  verify 
this  story.  It  is  said  that  they  feel  it  impossible  to 
deny  it  or  to  confirm  it.  So  why  not  believe  it,  as  a  fit- 
ting explanation  of  the  presence  in  these  mountain 
fastnesses  of  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  Indians, 
some  of  whom  live  on  the  Soco  Reservation,  while  all 
are  "at  once  wards  of  the  Government,  citizens  of  the 
United  States  and  (in  North  Carolina)  a  corporate 
body  under  state  laws"? 

The  convenient  railroad  makes  easy  the  journey 
from  Murphy,  near  the  southwest  corner  of  North 
Carolina,  more  than  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  to 
Asheville,  through  some  of  the  wildest  country  in  the 
old  Indian  hunting  grounds.  For  a  long  distance  the 

75 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

tracks  are  laid  close  to  the  Valley  Eiver,  through  the 
beautiful  Vale  of  Konnahecta,  as  the  Cherokees  called 
it.  From  the  car  window  the  country  looks  so  inviting 
that  one  wants  to  go  back  into  the  interior.  But  it  is 
the  part  of  wisdom  for  the  fisherman  or  the  tramper  to 
take  with  him  an  experienced  guide  through  these  wild 
gorges,  to  the  creeks  where  the  trout  respond  with  zest 
to  the  alluring  fly,  or  on  to  Toanna  Bald  or  South 
Weatherman's  Bald  or  Mount  Tuni. 

Think  of  a  climb  of  nine  hundred  feet  in  nine  miles, 
with  a  hundred  visions  to  every  mile !  That  climb  leads 
to  the  headwaters  of  Valley  Eiver,  which  are  separated 
from  the  Nantahala  Eiver  by  a  ridge  of  the  Balsam 
Mountains.  On  the  other  side  of  the  ridge  there  is  a 
bewildering  succession  of  river  crossings  and  tunnels 
that  draw  the  curtain  on  one  superb  picture  only  to 
raise  it  in  a  few  moment  on  one  still  more  superb.  And 
mountains  like  Cheowah  Bald,  Steecock  Bald,  Wesser 
Bald,  Welsh  Bald  and  the  High  Eocks  near  Bushnell, 
where  Tsali  began  his  last  journey  into  the  heights ! 

Along  the  road  to  Waynesville  numerous  trails  lead 
into  the  mountains.  Balsam,  the  highest  point  reached 
by  any  railroad  east  of  the  Mississippi,  is  notable  also 
as  a  starting  point  for  trails  to  Balsam  Gap,  Plott  Bal- 
sam, Jones  Knob,  Steestachee  Bald,  Licklog  Gap,  Can- 
sey  Fork  Bald,  and  Judy  Kulla,  the  highest  summit  in 
the  Eichland  Balsams,  which  offers  a  view  that  is 
famous.  How  the  mere  names  of  these  heights  sing 
their  way  into  the  heart ! 

For  the  lover  of  the  trail  who  likes  to  go  still  farther 
afield  there  is  a  rare  opportunity  to  the  south  of  Bal- 
sam, down  to  the  headwaters  of  Caney  Fork,  between 
the  Pisgah  Eidge  and  the  Tennessee  Eidge — the  two 

76 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

branches  into  which  the  Balsam  Range  divides — to  Lake 
Toxaway.  This  is  not  an  easy  trip,  and  it  should  be 
made  only  in  the  company  of  a  competent  guide.  But 
what  a  background  it  will  give  for  the  lasting  pictures 
of  the  Sapphire  Country ! 

The  Lake  Toxaway  region  has  been  called  "the 
crowning  glory  of  a  land  of  loveliness. ' '  Three  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  sea,  surrounded  by  mountains,  mir- 
roring in  its  placid  depths  the  azure  sky,  the  green 
slopes  and  the  rocky  precipices,  lie  Lakes  Toxaway, 
Fairfield  and  Sapphire — three  crystal  gems  set  in  the 
diadem  of  North  Carolina. 

The  outlet  of  Lake  Toxaway  is  Toxaway  Eiver, 
notable  for  the  400-foot  fall  of  the  water  from  the  lake 
to  the  level  of  the  stream.  From  its  banks  Mount  Tox- 
away may  be  reached  by  a  trail  that  leads  directly  to  a 
lodge  that  appeals  to  many  even  more  than  the  hotels 
in  and  near  the  town.  This  mountain  resort,  two  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  lake,  is  noted  because  it  makes  pos- 
sible a  stay  of  days  in  a  spot  from  which  one  can  see 
scores  of  towering  summits — Mt.  Pisgah,  close  to  Ashe- 
ville,  more  than  forty  miles  away,  and  Mount  Mitchell, 
thirty  miles  farther  to  the  northeast,  Mt.  Eabun,  over 
on  the  Georgia  line ;  the  Great  Smokies,  on  the  border 
of  Tennessee,  and — near  at  hand — Old  Whitesides,  with 
its  bold,  forbidding  cliffs,  looking  like  a  bit  of  Colorado 
carried  into  the  midst  of  southern  greenery. 

The  forty-one-mile  railway  ride  from  Lake  Toxa- 
way to  Hendersonville  is  through  the  narrow  valley 
of  the  upper  French  Broad,  where  the  waters  tumble 
over  precipices,  roar  among  the  impeding  rocks,  spread 
out  into  broad  shallows,  and  narrow  into  pent-up 
gorges.  Many  travelers  here  do  not  find  it  an  easy 

77 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

matter  to  decide  whether  to  go  on  at  once  to  Asheville 
or  to  stop  off  for  another  taste  of  the  trail.  Perhaps 
they  will  yield  to  the  information  that  from  Cherry- 
field  it  is  possible  to  accompany  the  rural  postman  on 
his  route  twenty-four  miles  to  Sylvia.  On  the  way 
Wolf  Mountain  is  passed,  the  trail  from  Waynesville 
to  Lake  Toxaway  is  intersected,  the  Tuckaseegee  Eiver 
is  followed,  and  the  ever-delightful  Speedwell  Valley  is 
within  reach. 

From  Brevard,  in  the  Pisgah  National  Forest  re- 
gion, there  is  a  trail  to  Looking  Glass  Mountain  and 
Looking  Glass  Falls,  to  Caesar's  Head,  and  then — 
through  a  country  of  perennial  delight — nineteen  miles 
to  the  crest  of  the  Pisgah  Eidge.  In  the  shadow  of  these 
mountains  the  real  lover  of  the  wild  speedily  substitutes 
new  values  for  the  old.  Once  a  wanderer,  seeking  the 
Pisgah  heights,  was  cheated  in  a  trade  for  food.  In 
writing  of  the  experience  he  said:  "It  matters  little. 
In  Vagabondia  one  does  not  haggle  over  the  price  of 
this  or  that;  on  the  open  road  money  is  a  small  thing 
indeed,  and  it  is  better  to  be  cheated  out  of  the  change 
than  to  miss  a  noble  prospect  of  far-off  mountains  or  a 
fir  tree  by  the  roadside. ' '  Again  he  told  of  losing  his 
knife — "an  old  comrade  that  I  knew  I  should  miss ;  but 
I  let  it  go  without  a  murmur,  and  after  scarcely  a 
minute's  search  among  the  weeds.  Better  that  it  rust 
away  to  nothingness  than  that  a  single  hour  of  the  day 
be  poisoned  by  a  weary  quest. ' ' 

Those  who  cannot  take  the  trail  where  they  will 
learn  the  joy  of  roughing  it  may  soon  have  their  turn. 
Out  from  mountain-girt  Hendersonville  a  splendid 
motor  highway  leads  over  hill  and  valley  to  Hickory 
Nut  Gap,  a  gorge  in  the  Blue  Eidge  nine  miles  long,  that 

78 


ON   THE    FRENCH    BROAD    RIVER,    MADISON   COUNTY,    NORTH    CAROLINA 


SPEEDWELL    VALLEY,    JACKSON    COUNTY,    NORTH    CAROLINA 


THE  LAND  OP  THE  SKY 

is  not  only  wild  but  wonderfully,  tremendously  beauti- 
ful. There  great  water-worn  precipices  stand  out  amid 
the  rolling  green  of  the  mountain  forests.  There  caves 
and  pools  and  waterfalls  whisper  mysteriously.  There 
the  Rocky  Broad  Eiver  tumbles  and  roars  toward  the 
Atlantic.  Giant  rocks  are  everywhere,  but  the  king  of 
them  all  is  Chimney  Eock,  rising  in  solitary  grandeur 
close  to  the  fifteen-hundred-f oot  precipice  on  the  south 
side  of  the  Gap.  It  is  called  a  chimney ;  it  might  as  well 
be  called  a  castle  turret.  But  no  mediaeval  knight  ever 
conceived  a  turret  so  massive.  If  the  Cherokees  had 
been  castle-builders,  what  a  site  they  would  have  had 
on  the  summit !  How  easy  it  would  have  been  for  them 
to  defend  the  Appian  Way,  the  narrow  ledge  from 
Chimney  Eock  to  Hickory  Nut  Falls,  which  tumble  over 
a  precipice  nine  hundred  feet  high!  What  delight 
they  would  have  found  from  their  lofty  eyries  in  looking 
out  along  and  across  the  Gap  to  the  rounded  summits 
bathed  in  green,  to  skies  painted  a  deep  blue  that  are  at 
once  the  joy  and  despair  of  the  artist! 

On  from  Hickory  Nut  Gap  to  Eutherfordton  the 
highway  continues,  affording,  from  Hendersonville, 
thirty-seven  miles  of  travel  through  a  section  where  the 
people  are  as  honest  as  the  scenery  is  sublime.  It  has 
been  said  of  them:  "If  you  should  go  among  them  to 
live,  and  should  ever  bolt  your  door  or  latch  your  win- 
dows at  night  or  when  you  go  away,  they  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you.  It  would  be  an  affront  to  them. 
Honesty  is  a  matter  of  course  in  this  country." 

In  the  days  when  the  stage-coach  gave  the  only  ac- 
cess to  this  mountain  region  there  were  two  favorite 
approaches  to  Asheville — one  by  way  of  Hickory  Nut 
Gap,  the  other  through  Marion,  southeast  of  Mount 

79 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Mitchell,  and  down  through  the  Swannanoa  Gap.  Both 
routes  had  strenuous  partisans  who  thought  there  was 
no  possibility  of  comparing  their  favorite  with  its  rival, 
but  there  were  many  who  found  it  difficult  to  choose 
between  them.  It  has  been  said  that  the  majesty  of 
Hickory  Nut  Gap  is  in  such  contrast  to  the  delicate 
beauty  of  the  Swannanoa  Gap  that  both  should  be  seen 
and  just  as  often  as  possible. 

Marion  is  less  than  twenty-five  miles  by  rail  north  of 
Rutherfordton,  but  the  distance  seems  even  shorter 
because  the  road  lies  through  new  country  of  compel- 
ling beauty,  even  grandeur.  The  town  itself  is  another 
of  the  numerous  mountain  centers  where  God's  glory 
on  earth  and  in  the  heavens  is  eloquently  declared.  The 
balsam-clad  Black  Mountains  chain  the  vision,  while 
Mount  Mitchell  rises  in  haughty  might  above  all  the 
rest.  Yet  another  vision  is  waiting  on  those  who  climb 
to  Hudgins  Hill,  only  a  short  distance  from  the  nestling 
houses  on  the  banks  of  a  branch  of  the  Catawba.  The 
valley  of  the  Catawba  itself  is  spread  out  in  winding 
beauty  beneath  those  who  stand  on  Price's  Hill,  three 
miles  north. 

From  Marion  to  Asheville  is  forty-one  miles,  and 
every  mile  is  notable  for  the  ever-changing  outlook  and 
for  the  associations  of  the  country.  Old  Fort,  for  in- 
stance, located  where  Bergen  Creek  enters  the  Catawba, 
tells  of  the  fortification  built  in  early  days  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  settlers  from  the  forays  of  the  Cherokees. 
Perhaps  those  who  named  the  fort  were  too  busy  to 
study  the  mountains,  but  the  visitor  to-day  gazes  in 
rapture  on  Wild  Cat  Knob  and  Edmondson  Mountain. 

Soon  after  the  train  issues  from  the  tunnel  at  Den- 
dron  the  passenger  is  apt  to  rub  his  eyes  and  ask  if  he 

80 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

is  dreaming.  Is  it  possible  that  he  is  in  Yellowstone 
Park,  instead  of  in  North  Carolina?  Are  Balsam  Cone 
and  the  Black  Brothers  and  Celo — all  more  than  six 
thousand  feet  high — peaks  of  the  Rockies,  not  of  the 
Blue  Ridge?  Certainly  the  great  geyser  at  Round 
Knob  indicates  the  West,  not  the  East !  Several  hun- 
dred feet  high  spouts  the  water  from  the  orifice  near  the 
tracks.  A  few  years  ago  the  wonder  ceased  to  flow, 
but  efforts  to  reopen  the  choked  channel  were  success- 
ful, and  North  Carolina  can  once  more  point  proudly  to 
the  graceful  columns  of  Andrews'  Fountain  that  rises 
as  if  to  dispute  the  mountains '  sway. 

Within  a  few  miles  of  the  fountain  three  great  de- 
nominations and  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associ- 
ation have  pitched  their  summer  camps  where  there  is 
constant  inspiration  to  look  and  ramble,  to  wonder  and 
worship.  It  is  difficult  to  make  choice  among  the  loca- 
tions, but  some  award  the  palm  to  the  grounds  just 
beyond  the  gap  where  the  Swannanoa  cleaves  the  moun- 
tains on  its  rushing  way  to  the  French  Broad,  while  Kit- 
tazuma  Peak  looks  down  with  the  dignity  becoming 
a  monarch. 

On  to  the  gate  of  Asheville  flows  the  Swannanoa, 
there  to  join  the  stream  that  is  so  soon  to  triumph  over 
the  mountain  barrier  that  overlooks  the  Valley  of 
East  Tennessee. 

There  are  winter  resorts  and  there  are  summer 
resorts;  in  the  off-season  these  places  seem  to  make 
mute  appeal  for  the  return  of  those  who  once  sought 
refreshment  there.  But  Asheville,  Queen  of  the  Land 
of  the  Sky,  has  no  off-season;  in  winter  and  summer 
alike  it  welcomes  throngs  from  the  north  and  from  the 
south  who  delight  in  its  situation  in  the  valley  sloping 

6  81 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

up  to  hills  that  are  mountains,  and  in  the  multitude  of 
roads  and  trails  that  take  off  into  the  wilds  as  well  as 
into  regions  where  those  go  who  wish  all  comforts  as 
they  travel.  One  of  the  most  notable  of  these  roads  has 
been  completed  to  Mt.  Pisgah,  in  the  heart  of  the  Pis- 
gah  National  Forest  and  Game  Preserve.  There  is  also 
the  road  reserved  entirely  for  automobiles  built  to  a 
height  from  which  a  score  of  other  peaks  may  be 
counted,  and  the  drive  to  Biltmore,  the  Vanderbilt 
estate,  one  hundred  thousand  acres  of  forest  and  game 
preserve,  with  its  scores  of  miles  of  roads  and  hundreds 
of  miles  of  trail. 

Finally  comes  the  greatest  joy  of  all — the  pilgrim- 
age to  Mount  Mitchell,  patriarch  of  the  Black  Moun- 
tains, monarch  of  the  Eastern  United  States,  said  by 
geologists  to  be  the  oldest  mountain  in  the  world. 

With  the  completion  of  the  "Crest  of  the  Blue  Eidge 
Highway"  from  Asheville  to  Blowing  Eock,  approach 
to  Mount  Mitchell  will  be  easy.  But  it  is  not  necessary 
to  wait  for  the  highway ;  trails  are  open  for  those  who 
take  delight  in  climbing,  who  feel  that  those  who  do  not 
conquer  the  way  on  foot  deprive  themselves  of  half  the 
joy  of  the  days  spent  in  the  mountains.  For  their  com- 
fort and  guidance  a  map  of  the  Mount  Mitchell  National 
Forest  has  been  prepared  by  the  Southern  Eailway. 
On  this  are  shown  in  full  detail  roads  and  trails,  camp 
sites,  streams,  gaps  and  mountains — everything  that  a 
vagabond  in  the  forest  could  wish. 

But  the  simplest  way  to  reach  the  summit  is  to  take 
the  train  from  Asheville,  sixteen  miles  to  Mount 
Mitchell  Station,  and  then  ascend  by  the  help  of  the 
Mount  Mitchell  Eailroad  to  the  summit.  It  is  a  climb 
of  more  than  four  thousand  feet,  among  the  wild  flowers 

82 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY 

and  ferns,  mosses  and  galax,  laurel,  azalea  and  rhodo- 
dendron, with  balsam  on  every  hand,  above  and 
below.  As  the  railway  twists  and  turns  it  brings  into 
view  many  peaks,  lofty,  rounded,  sublime.  But  soon 
it  will  be  evident  that  all  bow  down  to  Mount  Mitchell — 
even  the  Black  Brothers,  from  their  twin  heights  of 
6690  and  6620  feet. 

On  the  highest  part  of  the  mountain  rises  the  monu- 
ment to  Elisha  Mitchell,  whose  wanderings  amid  the 
mountain  he  loved  led  him  to  his  death.  He  could  not 
rest  when  the  assertion  was  made  by  another  mountain- 
lover  that  the  crown  of  the  Black  Mountains  should  rest 
on  Clingman's  Peak,  instead  of  on  Mount  Mitchell.  One 
June  day  in  1857,  after  he  had  spent  weeks  in  scientific 
work,  he  started  alone  to  cross  the  mountain.  Four 
days  later,  when  no  word  was  received  from  him,  a 
search  party  was  organized.  Five  days  they  searched 
in  vain;  then  a  mountaineer  found  footprints  which 
showed  that  Doctor  Mitchell  had  tried  to  pass  around 
the  edge  of  a  precipice  over  which  a  cataract  tumbled. 
The  torn-up  moss  indicated  where  he  had  slipped  and 
had  tried  to  raise  himself.  Forty  feet  below  his  body 
lay  in  a  placid  pool,  still  grasping  a  broken  branch 
of  laurel. 

Eeverently  the  mountaineers  lifted  the  body  from 
the  pool  and  bore  it  down  to  Asheville,  where  the  grave 
was  made  at  the  request  of  his  family.  But  a  little  later 
the  mountaineers  were  given  their  due ;  they  were  per- 
mitted to  carry  him  aloft  to  the  summit  of  his  mountain, 
where  every  visitor  pays  tribute  to  the  conqueror  of 
the  wild,  the  lover  of  the  solitudes,  the  man  who  wor- 
shiped on  the  dome  of  the  roof  of  Eastern  America. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  VARIED  CAROLINA  COAST  COUNTRY 

THOMAS  MOOEE  has  told  the  story  of  a  young 
man  who  lost  his  mind  because  of  the  death 
of  the  maid  he  loved.     In  his   delirium  he 
imagined  that  she  had  gone  to  the  Dismal  Swamp — 

Where  all  night  long,  hy  a  fire-fly  lamp, 
She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 

He  followed  her  and  saw  her  light.  Then  he  watched — 

Till  he  hollowed  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark, 

Which  carried  him  off  from  the  shore; 
Far  he  followed  the  meteor  spark, 
The  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  dark, 

And  the  boat  returned  no  more. 

But  oft,  from  the  Indian  hunter's  camp 

This  lover  and  maid  so  true 
Are  seen,  at  the  hour  of  midnight  damp, 
To  cross  the  lake  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 

And  paddle  their  white  canoe! 

Evidently  the  poet  had  in  mind  not  only  the  Great 
Dismal  Swamp,  but  also  Lake  Drummond,  in  the  weird 
region  of  Norfolk  County,  Virginia,  close  to  the  North 
Carolina  border,  and  but  fifty  miles  or  so  from  the 
Atlantic.  The  lake  and  the  swamp  are  connected  by  one 
of  the  canals  dug  to  facilitate  the  transport  of  timber 
from  that  rich  country. 

The  Great  Dismal  Swamp  extends  over  the  border 
into  North  Carolina,  a  district  known  as  South  Vir- 

84 


• 


CYPRESS    TREES    IN    EASTERN    PART    OF    LAKE    DRUMMOND,    VIRGINIA 


SOUTHERN    MARGIN    OF    LAKE    DRUMMOND.    VTRCUNIA 


THE   VARIED    CAROLINA   COAST   COUNTRY 

ginia  in  the  days  of  the  early  pioneers.  The  explorers 
of  its  strange  precincts  can  go  for  forty  miles  from 
north  to  south,  and  for  twenty-five  miles  from  east  to 
west,  always  keeping  within  the  swamp,  an  immense 
quagmire  where  is  peat  of  unknown  depth,  where  waters 
flow  slowly  toward  the  rivers  to  north  and  south  and 
east,  where  there  are  occasional  bits  of  firm  ground  due 
to  the  matted  roots  of  vegetable  matter. 

Off  to  the  east  of  Dismal  Swamp  lies  Currituck 
Sound,  first  in  the  curious  series  of  land-locked  salt 
water  inlets  separated  from  the  boiling  waters  of  the 
open  ocean  by  the  long  narrow  arm  of  bars  and  islands, 
"the  Banks,"  whose  elbow  is  stormy  Cape  Hatteras. 
This  northernmost  of  the  sounds  is  noted  among  bird- 
lovers  because  it  is  the  favorite  winter  resort  of  the 
whistling  swan. 

Albemarle  Sound,  to  the  south  of  Currituck,  is 
linked  with  the  heroic  story  of  one  who  had  no  leisure 
to  think  of  the  swarming  bird  life.  Her  name  was 
Betsy  Dowdy,  and  her  inspiration  to  heroism  came 
when  the  British  approached  Great  Bridge  in  the  Albe- 
marle country.  She  knew  that  the  only  salvation  for 
the  country-side  was  in  getting  word  to  General  Wil- 
liam Skinner  of  the  militia  at  Perquimans.  So  she 
mounted  her  pony,  crossed  Currituck  when  the  tide  was 
coming  in,  rode  through  Camden,  to  the  south  of  the 
Dismal  Swamp,  crossed  Pasquotank,  and  entered  Per- 
quimans. At  her  frantic  call  the  militia  hurried  to  meet 
the  British  and  drove  them  back. 

Edenton,  once  the  colonial  capital  of  North  Caro- 
lina, is  to  the  west  of  Perquimans  on  Albemarle  Sound. 
In  the  height  of  the  town's  glory  its  five  hundred  people 
vied  with  Williamsburg  in  Virginia  in  social  gayety. 

85 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Reminders  of  those  days  are  numerous  in  the  quaint 
town  where  colonial  buildings  survive.  The  most  inter- 
esting of  these  reminders  is  the  tablet  erected  by  the 
North  Carolina  Daughters  of  the  Revolution  to  "The 
Fifty-one  ladies  of  Edenton,  who,  by  their  patriotism, 
zeal,  early  protest  against  British  authority,  assisted 
our  forefathers  in  the  making  of  the  republic  and  our 
commonwealth."  These  patriotic  women  met  on  Oc- 
tober 25, 1774,  and  passed  resolutions  commending  the 
Provisional  Congress,  and  promised  not  to  conform  * '  to 
that  Pernicious  Custom  of  Drinking  Tea,  and  that  the 
aforesaid  Ladys  would  not  promote  ye  wear  of  any 
manufacture  from  England"  until  the  tax  was  repealed. 

From  Edenton  the  waters  of  Albemarle  Sound  lead 
to  Kitty  Hawk,  on  the  bounding  sandspits,  where,  it  is 
thought  by  some,  beautiful  Theodosia  Burr  was 
drowned  in  1812  when  a  pilot  boat  bound  for  New  York 
was  wrecked  on  the  Banks.  At  any  rate,  the  portrait 
of  the  daughter  of  Aaron  Burr,  rescued  from  the  wreck, 
hung  on  the  wall  of  a  cabin  at  Kitty  Hawk  until  1869. 
Then  it  was  given  by  a  patient  in  gratitude  for  the  at- 
tentions of  a  physician. 

From  Kitty  Hawk  to  Cape  Hatteras  and  around 
the  elbow  of  the  sandspits  there  have  been  wrecks  with- 
out number,  for  here,  in  the  edge  of  the  Gulf  Stream, 
is  what  has  been  called  "the  Golgotha  of  the  Sea." 
From  earliest  days  mariners  have  been  in  terror  of  this 
coast.  De  Bry  's  "  True  Picture  of  Virginia, ' '  in  telling 
of  the  arrival  of  the  pioneers  "in  the  iland  called 
Roanoae,"  said: 

"The  sea  coasts  of  Virginia  arre  full  of  Hands, 
whereby  the  entrance  into  the  land  is  hard  to  finde. 
.  .  .  For  although  they  bee  separated  with  diuers  and 

86 


THE   VARIED   CAROLINA   COAST   COUNTRY 

sundrye  large  Dimensions,  which  seeme  to  yield  con- 
uenient  entrance,  yet  to  our  great  perill  we  proued  that 
they  wear  shallowe,  and  full  of  dangerous  flatts,  and 
could  never  perce  up  to  the  mayne  land,  until  we  made 
trialls  in  many  places  with  or  small  pinniers.  At 
length  we  f  ownd  entrance  vpon  our  mens  diligent  serch 
thereof.  Affter  that  we  had  passed  off,  and  sayled  ther 
in  for  a  short  space  we  discouered  a  mighty  riuer,  fall- 
inge  downe  into  the  Sownde.  .  .  ." 

Boanoke  Island  is  north  of  Cape  Hatteras  at  the 
upper  end  of  Pamlico  Sound,  and  to  the  east  of  Dare 
County,  named  for  Virginia  Dare,  first  English  child 
born  in  America,  on  August  18, 1587.  At  the  lower  end 
of  the  Sound  is  Newbern,  founded  in  1709,  as  New 
Berne,  by  the  Palatinates  and  the  Swiss.  Here  the 
colonial  governor,  Tryon,  held  his  court,  and  from  here 
he  went  far  to  the  northwest  to  fight  the  Regulators — 
roused  on  the  question  of  taxation — in  the  battle  of 
the  Alamance  on  May  16,  1771.  This  conflict  has  been 
called  the  first  of  the  Revolution,  though  there  are  some 
even  in  North  Carolina  who  declare  that  the  Regulators 
were  a  mere  lawless  mob,  opposed  to  true  government. 
The  fierce  dispute  with  those  who  declare  the  men  were 
true  patriots  can  never  be  settled. 

But  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  patriotism  of 
the  thousand  men  of  Wilmington,  who,  on  the  banks  of 
Moore 's  Creek,  a  tributary  of  Black  River,  put  to  flight 
sixteen  hundred  Tories  in  "the  first  victory  gained  by 
American  arms  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution. ' '  At  least 
this  is  the  claim  made  on  the  monument  erected  on  the 
site  of  the  battle,  near  Carrie,  in  Fender  County. 

Years  before,  in  February,  1766,  patriots  from  the 
city  on  Cape  Fear  River,  mustered  in  opposition  to  the 

87 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Stamp  Act  and  succeeded  in  forcing  Governor  Tryon 
to  release  two  colonial  vessels  whose  clearance  papers 
had  not  been  stamped.  Thus  the  Stamp  Act  was,  in 
effect,  annulled,  so  far  as  North  Carolina  was  con- 
cerned, two  months  before  its  repeal.  If  Tryon  had 
not  yielded  there  would  have  been  a  clash — and  the 
American  Revolution  would  have  begun  then  and  there, 
so  North  Carolina  historians  believe. 

Days  may  be  spent  in  looking  at  the  attraction  of 
modern  Wilmington  and  in  studying  the  reminders  of 
other  days,  past  Negro  Head  Point,  which  separates 
the  waters  of  Cape  Fear  Eiver  into  northwest  and 
northeast  branches,  and  on  to  Big  Island,  site  of  Old 
Town,  the  Barbadoes  settlement  of  1665;  Caroline 
Beach,  with  its  five-mile  stretch  of  breakers ;  the  site  of 
the  old  colonial  town  of  Brunswick;  Fort  Fisher,  whose 
capture  on  January  15, 1865,  ended  Confederate  block- 
ade running;  and  the  lighthouse  on  Bald  Head,  resort 
of  wreckers  and  pirates  of  other  days.  Bald  Head  is 
at  the  top  of  South  Island,  where  the  Frying  Pan  Shoals 
begin,  and  here  is  "The  Cape  of  Fear,"  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh's  Promontorum  Tremendum — the  southern 
limit  of  the  inhospitable  seaward  barrier  to  a  most 
hospitable  state. 

The  one-hundred-and-fifty-mile  section  of  coast 
from  Cape  Fear  to  Winyah  Bay  in  South  Carolina  is  a 
startling  contrast  to  the  stormy  region  to  the  north. 
Neither  islands  nor  bars  interfere  with  approach  to  the 
shore,  which  curves  gracefully  inland.  The  waves  of 
the  Atlantic  break  on  a  smooth  beach,  where  residents 
of  interior  cities  and  towns  find  summer  relief. 

Near  the  head  of  spacious  Winyah  Bay  is  George- 
town, the  terminus  of  the  most  pleasing  canoe  journey 


THE   VARIED    CAROLINA   COAST    COUNTRY 

in  the  South,  two  hundred  miles  in  all,  first  on  the 
Lumbee  River,  then  on  the  Little  Peedee,  and  finally  on 
the  Great  Peedee  River.  John  Martin  Hammond 
speaks  of  this  combination  waterway  as  '  *  the  only  clear- 
water  stream  fit  for  canoes  between  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
and  Virginia  .  .  .  the  only  stream  of  such  extent. ' ' 

From  Pine  Bluff,  where  the  Mid-winter  Canoeing 
Club  has  its  headquarters,  sportsmen  in  increasing 
numbers  follow  the  fascinating  stream,  through  the 
plunging  rapids,  and  the  long-leaf  pines — successors 
these  of  the  Indian  canoemen  of  long  ago  who,  in  their 
keen  enjoyment  of  the  passage,  called  the  headwaters 
stream  Lumbee,  "  beautiful  river. " 

Every  mile  of  the  varied  stream  bears  testimony  to 
the  accuracy  of  the  name.  The  rapids  and  the  pines 
of  the  upper  river  and  the  cypresses  and  Spanish  moss 
of  the  lower  reaches  lead  the  fortunate  winter  canoeist 
to  rejoice.  The  fisherman  will  find  abundant  oppor- 
tunity to  try  his  skill.  The  lover  of  mystery  will  be 
fascinated  by  the  sight  of  the  Croatan  Indian  reserva- 
tion, where  dwell  the  several  thousand  wards  of  the 
nation  thought  by  many  to  be  descendants  of  the  lost 
colony  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  At  least  the  name  is  a 
reminder  of  the  disappointing  discovery  of  the  expedi- 
tion of  1590,  sent  to  the  relief  of  the  colony — a  wooden 
stockade  on  whose  gate  was  burned  the  mysterious 
word  "Croatan."  The  historian  will  revel  in  the 
thought  that,  at  Yauhannah,  where  the  Great  Peedee  is 
reached,  he  is  floating  past  marshy  islands  made  mem- 
orable in  Revolutionary  days  by  the  exploits  of  Marion 
and  his  brave  followers,  whose  appearances  and  dis- 
appearances brought  sorrow  to  followers  of  England's 
German  king. 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

It  is  easy  to  lose  one's  way  in  the  labyrinth  of  water 
passages  among  the  islands,  not  only  here  but  farther 
north  at  Buzzard  Flats,  and  to  the  south  where  there 
is  more  than  one  connection  with  the  Waccamaw  River. 

On  the  lower  reaches  of  the  waterway  to  Winyah 
Bay  there  is  ample  room  for  more  ambitious  craft, 
whose  owners  may  be  tempted  to  follow  the  coast  a 
short  distance  to  the  delta  built  out  into  the  sea  by  the 
Santee,  another  of  the  rivers  made  memorable  by  the 
exploits  of  Marion — the  river  that  once  formed  a  link 
in  ambitious  Charleston's  scheme  to  connect  with 
Columbia  and  bring  to  her  harbor  cotton  from  the  in- 
terior and  rice  from  the  lands  nearer  at  hand.  The 
student  of  up-to-date  maps  will  find  its  given  place,  as 
in  the  days  of  old,  but  the  author  of  '  *  The  South  in  the 
Building  of  the  Nation"  says  that  "the  canal  is  now  in 
ruins,  though  some  of  its  locks,  built  of  brick  and  origi- 
nally capped  with  marble,  are  standing. ' ' 

The  Santee  canal  is  a  memory,  but  another  of 
Charleston's  early  attempts  to  bring  to  her  doors  the 
wealth  of  the  interior  has  been  more  fortunate.  Trav- 
elers may  still  pass  along  the  route  of  what  was,  at 
the  time  of  its  building,  the  longest  railroad  in  the 
world,  the  South  Carolina  railroad,  from  Charleston 
to  Hamburg.  For  one  hundred  and  thirty- seven  miles 
this  wonder  led  through  the  wilderness. 

In  1830,  when  the  locomotive  "Best  Friend"  was 
tested  on  the  railroad,  one  hundred  and  forty  passen- 
gers were  carried.  One  of  them  told  wonderingly  of 
his  experience  behind  the  horse  that  "eats  fire,  breathes 
steam  and  feeds  upon  lightwood."  He  said:  "We  flew 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind  at  the  varied  speed  of  fifteen 
to  twenty-five  miles  an  hour.  We  darted  forth  like  a 

90 


...  — i 


FORT    SUMTER,    CHARLESTON,    SOUTH    CAROLINA 


ENTRANCE    TO    THE    DEVEREUX    HOME,    CHARLESTON,    SOUTH    CAROLINA 


THE    VARIED    CAROLINA    COAST   COUNTRY 

live  rocket,  scattering  sparks  and  flames  on  either  side. ' ' 

Long  before  the  "Best  Friend"  carried  passengers 
to  Charleston  at  such  terrific  speed  the  city  was  famous. 
And  its  fame  continues. 

The  city  has  a  matchless  situation,  at  the  junction 
of  the  two  rivers,  within  sight  of  the  open  sea.  The 
best  view  of  the  harbor  and  the  ocean  is  from  the  Bat- 
tery, at  the  point  between  the  rivers.  It  is  only  five 
miles  out  to  historic  Fort  Sumter,  while  Fort  Moultrie, 
on  Sullivan's  Island,  speaks  eloquently  of  the  days 
when  the  harbor  was  successfully  defended  against  the 
British.  Not  far  from  Sullivan's  Island  is  the  Isle  of 
Palms,  with  its  nine-mile  beach  and  its  palmettoes  and 
live  oaks,  notable  among  the  innumerable  island  gems 
set  in  the  blue  ocean  all  the  way  from  Winy  ah  Bay 
to  Savannah. 

And  when  the  steps  lead  back  into  the  city,  what 
wealth  is  there  for  the  lover  of  the  picturesque  and  for 
those  devoted  to  the  lore  of  other  days,  as  well  as  for 
those  whose  delights  are  all  of  modern  commercial  tri- 
umphs! Stately  old  churches,  like  St.  Philip's  and  St. 
Michael's,  and  the  Huguenot  church,  founded  in  1681 — 
the  only  French  Huguenot  church  in  America ;  wonder- 
ful colonial  houses,  like  the  Pringle  house,  the  Heywood 
house,  the  Huger  house  and  the  Horry  house;  quaint 
streets  and  buildings  yet  more  quaint;  shaded  walks, 
blooming  flowers,  and  parks  like  the  Magnolia  Gardens 
on  the  Ashley — a  dream  come  true,  a  bit  of  fairyland 
close  to  the  heart  of  a  city  where  the  activity  of  the 
present  is  able  to  keep  step  with  the  wonders  that  are 
the  heritage  from  other  days. 

The  flavor  of  other  days,  felt  with  so  much  persis- 
tence in  Charleston,  clings  even  more  closely  to  the 

91 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

low-lying  Sea  Islands  that  cluster  between  St.  Helena 
Sound,  southwest  of  Charleston,  and  the  mouth  of  the 
Savannah  Eiver.  These  fertile  islands  are  separated 
from  the  mainland  by  tide  rivers  which  afford  an  ideal 
opportunity  for  the  leisurely  visitor  to  wander  at  will 
in  bateau  or  motor  boat,  close  to  the  shore  where  the 
marshes  and  the  Spanish  moss,  the  live  oaks-  and  the 
palmettoes,  the  magnolia  and  the  pines  vie  with  each 
other  in  framing  a  land  that  seems  like  a  bit  of  Africa. 

The  wandering  may  begin  either  at  St.  Helena 
Sound,  where  the  Edisto  and  the  Combahee  Eivers  seek 
the  sea,  or  at  Beaufort,  the  quaint  little  city  that  dates 
from  1711.  Beaufort,  and  Port  Royal,  near  by,  were 
important  points  in  the  days  of  the  Confederacy,  until 
the  capture  of  Hilton  Head  and  St.  Philips,  two  of  the 
finest  of  the  islands,  closed  the  passage  from  the  sea. 

Hilton  Head  has  other  claims  to  fame.  Here,  in 
1790,  the  first  crop  of  the  wondrously  fine  long  staple 
Sea  Island  cotton,  finest  cotton  grown,  was  raised  from 
seed  brought  from  the  Bahamas,  and  thus  the  founda- 
tion was  laid  for  an  industry  that  throve  until  the 
fortunes  of  war  drove  the  planters  from  their  farms. 
Now  other  sections  produce  this  valuable  variety  of  cot- 
ton, but  the  best  is  still  raised  in  South  Carolina,  Beau- 
fort and  Charleston  counties  alone — in  which  are  the 
Sea  Islands — reporting  acreage  devoted  to  its  growth. 
The  product  in  a  recent  year  was  only  seven  thousand 
bales,  but  these  bales  were  in  great  demand,  at  high 
prices.  This  demand  has  been  explained  by  the  state- 
ment that  a  single  pound  can  be  spun  into  a  thread  160 
miles  long,  and  that  the  fiber  is  so  fine  that  the  weavers 
of  France  have  been  known  to  mix  it,  undetected,  with 
the  product  of  the  silk  worm. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
WHERE  FLOWS  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE 

THE  approach  to  the  storied  Chattahoochee  is 
from  Kings  Mountain,  and  across  the  section 
of  western  North  Carolina  where  Spartanburg 
rules  the  largest  cotton  manufacturing  county  of  the 
South.  The  story  is  told  that  the  county  and  the  town 
were  named  in  honor  of  the  Spartan  qualities  of  the 
pioneers  who  prepared  the  way  for  those  who  have 
made  great  this  land  of  cotton  fields  and  cotton  mills. 
Long  ago  attention  was  called  to  Spartanburg 's  mills 
by  one  of  the  whimsical  paragraphs  of  Joel  Chandler 
Harris  in  the  Atlanta  Constitution.  After  speaking  of 
a  cloudburst  that  had  destroyed  several  of  these  mills, 
the  genial  paragrapher  wrote,  "-Cotton  factories  can- 
not be  too  careful  in  rainy  weather. ' '  But  now  that  the 
city  at  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  has  one- 
sixth  of  the  spindles  in  South  Carolina,  her  fame  rests 
on  a  more  substantial  basis. 

The  traveler  through  western  South  Carolina  is 
attracted  as  favorably  by  the  luxuriant  hillsides, 
adapted  for  agriculture  in  a  manner  familiar  to  those 
who  go  to  the  Philippine  Islands,  as  he  is  attracted  un- 
favorably by  the  sight  of  cotton  bales  exposed  to  the 
weather  in  back  yards  and  front  yards,  in  the  mud  of 
village  streets,  or  along  the  country  roads.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  the  five-hundred-pound  bales  are  safe  from 
theft,  but  what  of  the  deterioration  suffered  by  the  cot- 

03 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

ton?  Spartanburg,  a  leader  in  so  many  things,  has 
taken  steps  to  provide  warehouses  where  the  grower  of 
a  single  bale  or  the  planter  who  counts  his  crop  by 
hundreds  of  bales  may  deposit  his  product  while  wait- 
ing for  a  favorable  opportunity  to  market  it.  Thanks 
to  Spartanburg  and  those  whom  Spartanburg  has  in- 
spired, the  day  is  coming  when  buyers  will  pass  by  un- 
protected cotton  for  the  bales  from  the  warehouses. 

Far  more  pleasing  than  unprotected  cotton  by  the 
roadside  are  the  water-sculptured  banks  and  hillsides 
of  this  upland  country,  where  the  slopes  stage  a  feeble 
imitation  of  the  nearby  lessening  spurs  of  the  Appa- 
lachians, like  the  Chattooga  Ridge,  which,  for  more 
than  a  score  of  miles,  successfully  interferes  with  the 
purpose  of  the  Chattooga  River  to  turn  toward  the 
Atlantic  instead  of  toward  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  But  at 
length  the  stream,  stealing  a  march  on  the  mountains, 
makes  a  quick  turn  to  the  southeast  by  way  of  the  Tuga- 
loo,  which  soon  becomes  the  Savannah  in  its  triumphant 
sweep  toward  the  sea.  In  consequence  of  the  turn  about 
the  mountains,  Oconee,  the  South  Carolina  county  that 
seems  to  rob  Georgia  of  a  bit  of  her  territory,  has  rivers 
on  three  sides — for  the  Keowee  also  starts  in  the  Chat- 
tooga Ridge  and  flows  toward  the  Seneca,  the  Savan- 
nah and  the  sea. 

The  rivers  that  precede  the  Savannah  have  several 
points  in  common.  For  one  thing  there  is  the  oo,  which 
is  a  good  variation  of  the  ee,  affected  by  so  many  of  the 
old-time  names  of  the  neighborhood.  Then  there  is 
Rabun  Gap,  one  of  the  bits  of  scenic  grandeur  not  very 
far  from  the  Chattooga,  a  typical  primitive  mountain 
community;  and  there  is  Tallulah  Falls,  whose  majesty 
is  a  close  neighbor  of  the  Tugaloo. 

94 


CHATTOOGA    RIVER,    GEORGIA 
Near  the  mouth 


TALLULAH   FALLS,    GEORGIA 


WHERE  FLOWS  THE   CHATTAHOOCHEE 

Tallulah  Falls — called  by  the  Cherokees  Tarrurah 
— are  not  far  from  the  junction  of  the  Tallulah  Eiver 
with  the  Tugaloo.  They  are  really  a  series  of  falls  in 
a  mountain  stream  that  tumbles  over  the  rocks  in  most 
entrancing  fashion. 

The  leaping  waters  of  Tallulah  provide  opportunity 
for  hydro-electric  development  of  which  engineers  have 
not  been  slow  to  take  advantage.  The  use  made  by  them 
of  the  portion  of  the  potential  two  million  and  a  half 
horsepower  on  the  streams  of  Georgia  has  not  de- 
stroyed the  attractions  of  a  spot  so  rare  that  it  casts 
in  the  shade  the  nearby  Toccoa  Falls  in  Stephens 
County,  which  drop  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  over  a  cliff  that  seems  specially  made  for  the  stag- 
ing of  such  a  display  of  the  might  of  falling  water. 

Tallulah  Falls  are  close  to  the  mountain  ridge  that 
divides  the  Mississippi  system  from  that  of  the  At- 
lantic slope.  It  has  been  calculated  that  a  canal 
thirty-five  miles  across  Eabun  Gap  would  connect  the 
Little  Tennessee  with  the  Tugaloo,  and  so  with  the 
Savannah.  In  fact,  the  Little  Tennessee,  the  Chat- 
tooga,  the  Chattahoochee  and  the  Keowee  start  within 
a  short  distance  of  one  another.  One  of  these  streams 
goes  to  the  Gulf  by  way  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi, 
two  flow  directly  to  the  Gulf,  and  two  to  the  Atlantic. 

An  Indian  legend  current  long  ago  in  the  country 
west  of  Eabun  Gap  made  use  of  this  interdigitation  of 
the  waters  of  this  favored  region.  A  Cherokee  brave 
loved  the  Catawba  princess  Hiawassee  (pretty  fawn), 
and  asked  for  her  hand  in  marriage.  The  Catawba 
father  said  in  reply  that  his  people  drank  the  waters  of 
the  East,  while  the  Cherokees  drank  from  the  streams 
of  the  West,  and  added,  "When  you,  insolent,  can  find 

95 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

these  waters  united,  then  may  the  hated  Cherokee 
marry  the  daughter  of  the  great  Catawba, ' ' 

The  despairing  yet  hopeful  lover  at  once  began  a 
long  search  for  the  union  of  the  waters.  He  climbed 
the  Appalachee,  studied  the  water  courses,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  springs  within  a.  few  feet  of  each 
other,  but  he  could  find  no  union  between  them.  Then 
one  day  he  stealthily  followed  three  young  fawns.  He 
stalked  them  to  a  lake  that  had  two  outlets,  one  to  the 
west,  and  one  to  the  east.  * l  Hiawassee !  0  Hiawassee ! ' ' 
he  cried.  ' '  I  have  found  it. ' ' 

The  Cherokees  rejoiced  in  the  glorious  beauty  of 
this  North  Georgia  country,  which  had  long  been  a  part 
of  their  possessions.  Once  they  occupied  also  the  moun- 
tain regions  of  North  and  South  Carolina  and  Tennes- 
see. They  were  left  undisturbed  until  the  discovery  of 
gold  excited  the  cupidity  of  settlers.  Traces  of  the 
precious  metal  were  uncovered  at  Dahlonega,  southwest 
of  Eabun  Gap,  and  not  far  from  Cane  Creek  Falls,  At 
once  there  arose  clamor  for  the  removal  of  the  Indians 
to  a  reservation  in  the  West.  But,  as  Bancroft  says, 
the  Cherokees  * '  loved  their  native  land,  and,  above  all, 
they  loved  its  rivers."  So  they  resented  the  attempt 
to  displace  them.  Yet  the  white  men  finally  succeeded 
in  their  purpose,  in  spite  of  the  decision  of  the  United 
States  Supreme  Court  that  the  Cherokees  could  not  be 
dispossessed  by  the  state  of  Georgia.  The  record  of  the 
next  seven  years  is  a  black  chapter  in  the  story  of  what 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson  called  "A  Century  of  Dishonor"; 
for  the  Cherokees  were  driven  from  their  lands  and  sent 
to  what  is  now  Oklahoma,  their  migration  being  one 
of  the  most  pitiful  spectacles  in  all  the  colorful  pag- 
eantry of  the  frontier.  A  remnant  exists  to-day  in  the 

96 


WHERE  FLOWS  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE 

mountains  of  North  Carolina,  made  up  of  industrious, 
loyal  men  and  women  who,  during  the  European  War, 
bought  bonds  and  sent  soldiers  to  the  front  without 
question.  It  has  been  said  that  but  one  slacker  was 
reported  in  the  whole  tribe,  and  that  he  was  immedi- 
ately brought  to  book  by  his  own  people. 

Habersham  County,  which  borders  on  Tallulah 
Falls,  has  its  reminders  of  the  Cherokees.  In  1830,  in 
Nacoochee  Valley,  on  Duke 's  Creek,  a  subterranean  vil- 
lage was  discovered  by  gold  washers.  Here  were 
thirty-four  log  houses,  all  joined  together.  Perhaps 
these  were  the  homes  of  the  people  of  the  legendary 
Nacoochee  (Evening  Star),  the  chief's  daughter,  who 
fell  in  love  with  the  son  of  a  chief  of  a  neighboring  hos- 
tile tribe.  Their  union  was  opposed,  but  they  married 
without  permission,  and  went  for  their  honeymoon  to 
"the  valley,  where,  from  the  interlocked  branches  over- 
head, the  white  flowers  of  the  clematis,  and  the  purple 
blossoms  of  the  magnificent  wild  persimmon  mingled 
with  the  dark  foliage  of  the  muscadines. ' '  There  ' '  the 
song  of  the  mocking-bird  and  the  murmur  of  the  Chat- 
tahoochee's  hurrying  waters  were  marriage  hymn  and 
anthem  to  them.  ' '  But  the  angry  father  pursued  them, 
and  shot  an  arrow  at  Laceola,  the  bridegroom.  Na- 
coochee thrust  herself  in  the  path  of  the  arrow.  To- 
gether they  were  buried,  and  a  mound  was  heaped  above 
them,  which  is  pointed  out  to  prove  the  legend's  truth. 

In  Habersham  County  the  Chattahoochee  takes  up 
the  tale  of  the  rivers  of  this  enchanted  land,  and 
wrestles  with  highlands  where  Ellick's  and  Sail's, 
Skitt  's  and  Mount  Yonah — the  latter  one  of  the  highest 
mountains  of  Georgia — lift  their  heads.  Then  the 
stream  seeks  the  easier  ground  of  Hall,  to  the  south- 

7  97 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

west.    This  is  the  river  of  which  Sidney  Larder,  the 
Georgia  poet  whom  all  America  claims,  sang : 

Out  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Down  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
I  hurry  amain  to  reach  the  plain, 

Run  the  rapid  and  leap  the  fall, 
Split  at  the  rock  and  together  again, 

Accept  my  bed,  or  narrow  or  wide, 

And  flee  from  folly  on  every  side — 
With  a  lover's  pain  to  attain  the  plain, 

Far  from  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Far  from  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

All  down  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

All  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  rushes  cried,  Abide,  abide, 

The  willful  waterweeds  held  me  thrall, 
The  laving  laurel  turned  my  tide, 

The  ferns  and  the  fondling  grass  said  Stay, 

The  dewberry  dipped  for  to  work  delay, 
And  the  little  reeds  sighed,  Abide,  abide, 

Here  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Here  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

The  Chattahoochee  rushes  on,  and  at  length  passes 
within  seven  miles  of  that  marvelous  city  Atlanta, 
founded  in  1837  and  named  Terminus,  because  it  was 
at  the  end  of  the  Western  and  Atlantic  Eailroad,  whose 
population  grows  so  rapidly  that  it  is  hardly  safe  to 
mate  an  estimate  between  census  periods ;  whose  mod- 
ern buildings  are  displaced  so  soon  by  buildings  yet 
more  modern  that  one  who  revisits  the  business  center 
after  an  absence  of  but  a  year  or  two  finds  that  he 
needs  to  be  introduced  all  over  again ;  whose  industries 
are  so  varied  that  they  could  care  for  almost  all  the 
needs  of  the  people. 

It  is  possible  to  secure  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  At- 

98 


STONE   MOUNTAIN,    GEORGIA 
Sixteen  miles  from  Atlanta 


WHERE  FLOWS  THE   CHATTAHOOCHEE 

lanta  's  attractions  within  a  few  hours,  but  tourists  say 
that  only  a  stay  of  weeks  can  content  them,  and  resi- 
dents declare  that  no  other  city  could  have  any  per- 
manent attractions  for  one  who  has  learned  to  love 
Georgia's  capital  city. 

Everybody  wants  to  see  the  Capitol  that  was  actu- 
ally built  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  less  than  the  esti- 
mate, the  county  court-house,  which  is  claimed  as  ' '  the 
finest  in  the  South,"  the  post-office,  the  Federal  peni- 
tentiary, the  residence  district  of  aristocratic  Peach- 
tree  street,  the  more  modern  residence  centers,  Inman 
Park  and  Druid  Hill,  and  the  awe-inspiring  Stone 
Mountain,  sixteen  miles  east  of  the  city,  the  strange 
monolith  rising  seven  hundred  feet  high,  several  square 
miles  in  extent,  whose  slopes  from  bottom  to  top  is  a 
full  mile. 

But  to  most  people  more  attractive  than  any  of 
these  wonders  are  the  memorials  of  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  beloved  of  the  children  and  their  parents  every- 
where, Uncle  Remus  of  Br 'er  Eabbit  fame,  writer  in  the 
Atlanta  Constitution  for  years,  over  whose  grave  is  the 
epitaph  in  words  written  by  himself : 

"I  seem  to  see  before  me  the  smiling  faces  of  thou- 
sands of  children — some  young  and  some  fresh  and 
some  wearing  the  friendly  marks  of  age,  but  all 
children  at  heart — and  not  one  unfriendly  face  among 
them.  And  while  I  am  trying  hard  to  speak  the  right 
word,  I  seem  to  hear  a  voice  lifted  above  the  rest,  say- 
ing, i  You  have  made  some  of  us  happy.'  And  so  I  feel 
my  heart  fluttering  and  my  lips  trembling ;  and  I  have 
to  bow  silently  and  turn  away  and  hurry  into  the  ob- 
scurity that  fits  me  best. ' ' 

But  when  Uncle  Eemus  died  the  people  of  Atlanta 

99 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

remembered  that  he  had  said,  "Don't  erect  any  statue 
of  marble  or  bronze  to  me  to  stand  out  in  the  rain  and 
cold  and  dark.*'  So  they  formed  the  Uncle  Remus 
Memorial  Association,  and  in  1913  they  secured  for  a 
permanent  memorial  the  writer's  house  at  West  End, 
which  came  to  be  called  "The  "Wren's  Nest, "  because  of 
the  story  told  by  its  owner  of  the  housekeeping  of  two 
wrens  in  the  little  box  near  the  gate,  where  the  china- 
berry  tree  and  the  honeysuckle  throve.  For  years  the 
story-teller's  delight  was  in  this  home,  from  which  he 
could  look  to  the  hills  about  Atlanta.  And  how  he  liked 
to  go  to  these  hills  because  from  them,  on  a  clear  day, 
he  could  see  Kenesaw  Mountain,  of  which  he  said, ' '  The 
majesty  of  Kenesaw  was  voiceless.  ...  Its  silence 
seemed  more  suggestive  than  the  lapse  of  time,  more 
profound  than  a  prophet's  vision  of  eternity,  more  mys- 
terious than  any  problem  of  the  human  mind. ' ' 


CHAPTER  IX 

ALONG  THE  SAVANNAH  RIVER 

Singin'  the  song  of  Hope  and  Home, 

Here's  Georgia! 
Fields  light-white  with  the  fleecy  foam, 

Here's  Georgia! 

Where  the  corn  hangs  heavy  and  climbs  so  high 
It  tells  the  gold  in  the  mines  "  Good-bye," 
And  hides  the  hills  from  the  mornin'  sky, 

Here's  Georgia! 

The  enthusiasm  in  Stanton  's  lines  is  modern,  but  it 
is  akin  to  the  enthusiasm  of  Eibault  who,  in  1562,  ap- 
proached the  Savannah  River  from  the  sea,  and  spoke 
of  it  as  "  a  f  ayre  coast  stretching  of  a  great  length ;  cov- 
vered  with  an  infinite  number  of  high  and  fay  re  trees." 
Then  he  said  that  the  land  in  this  favored  region  was 
the  "fairest,  fruitfullest,  and  pleasantest  of  all  the 
world,  abounding  in  hony,  venison,  wild  f owle,  forests, 
woods  of  all  sorts,  Palm-trees,  Cypresse,  and  Cedars ; 
Bayes  ye  highest  and  greatest;  with  also  the  fayrest 
rivers  in  all  the  world.  .  .  .  And  the  sight  of  the 
faire  meadows  is  a  pleasure  not  able  to  be  expressed 
with  tongue ;  full  of  Hernes,  Curlues,  Bitters,  Mallards, 
Egrepths,  woodcocks,  and  all  other  kind  of  small  birds ; 
with  Harts,  Hindes,  Buckes,  wilde  Swine,  and  all  other 
kindes  of  wilde  beastes,  as  we  perceived  well,  both  by 
their  footing  there  and  .  .  .  their  crie  and  roaring 
in  the  night. ' ' 

Nearly  two  centuries  passed  before  pioneers  found 

101 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

their  way  up  the  river  regions  that  so  delighted  the  old 
Huguenot,  to  found  Augusta,  the  border  city  that  from 
its  grove  of  pines  looks  out  on  the  Savannah  and  invites 
the  traveler  by  road  or  rail  or  river,  seeking  a  pleasing 
place  for  rest  or  sightseeing,  for  golfing  or  fishing  or 
boating.  The  days  since  1735  have  given  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  improvements,  but  they  have  not  brought  the 
loss  of  the  flavor  of  old  times.  Evidences  of  commercial 
sanity  and  progress  are  everywhere,  but  the  city  has 
had  the  taste  and  taken  the  time  to  make  streets  and 
parks  attractive  for  residents  as  well  as  travelers.  This 
is  the  impression  made  on  visitors  who  step  from  the 
gate  of  the  Union  Station,  as  they  look  out  on  the  green 
open  space  that  is  but  a  foretaste  of  the  beauty  spots 
everywhere — for  instance,  the  long  stretch  of  Green 
Street,  where  a  double  row  of  spreading  trees  borders 
each  of  the  roadways,  while  a  park-line  walk  silently 
pleads  with  the  wayfarer  to  prolong  his  stroll  under 
the  branches. 

Below  Augusta  the  river  makes  insistent  appeal  for 
a  lazy,  leisurely  seeking  of  Savannah  and  the  sea.  In 
1867  John  Muir  made  such  a  journey,  and  left  a  record 
of  it  that  gives  the  real  flavor  of  the  favored  waterway. 
He  spoke  of  splendid  grasses  and  rich,  dense,  vine-clad 
forests,  of  Muscadine  grapes  in  cart-loads,  of  passion 
flowers  and  pomegranates,  thick,  tough-skinned,  which, 
when  opened,  "  resemble  a  many-chambered  box  full  of 
translucent  purple  candies."  He  remarked  the  Spanish 
moss,  a  flowering  plant  of  the  same  family  as  the  pine- 
apple, which  draped  all  the  trees  along  the  way.  He 
told  of  an  impenetrable  cypress  swamp,  made  up  of 
trees  large  and  high  and  flat  as  to  crown,  "as  if  each 
tree  had  grown  up  against  a  ceiling,  or  had  been  rolled 
102 


ALONG  THE  SAVANNAH   RIVER 

while  growing. ' '  He  reveled  in  the  groves  and  thickets 
of  smaller  trees  full  of  blooming  evergreen  vines,  ar- 
ranged not  in  separate  groups,  but  in  bossy  walls,  and 
heavy  mound-like  heaps  and  banks. 

When  night  overtook  the  nature  lover  he  was  usually 
entertained  by  some  planter  along  the  road.  At  one 
place  the  memory  of  hospitality  which  he  took  away 
with  him  was  a  circular  table,  the  central  part  of  which 
revolved.  ' '  When  anyone  wished  to  be  helped,  he  placed 
his  plate  on  the  revolving  part,  which  was  whirled  back 
to  the  host,  and  then  whirled  back  with  the  new  load. ' ' 

The  records  of  travel  in  this  Georgian  paradise  are 
full  of  stories  of  hospitality  like  that  found  by  Muir. 
In  1773  a  writer  told  of  a  house  where  *  *  the  weary  trav- 
eler and  the  stranger  found  a  hearty  welcome,  and  from 
whence  it  must  be  his  own  fault  if  he  departed  without 
being  greatly  benefited."  Once  this  man  took  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  a  planter,  who,  after  reading  it,  said : 

"Friend,  come  under  my  roof,  and  I  desire  you  to 
make  my  house  your  home  as  long  as  convenient  to 
yourself.  Remember,  from  this  moment,  that  you  are  a 
part  of  my  family,  and  on  my  part,  I  shall  endeavor  to 
make  it  agreeable." 

Indeed,  hospitality  was  so  generously  given  that 
steps  sometimes  had  to  be  taken  to  escape  it.  When,  in 
early  days,  Charles  Lyell,  of  London,  made  his  geo- 
logical trip  to  America,  he  wrote  from  Georgia : 

'  *  I  had  been  warned  by  my  scientific  friends  in  the 
North  that  the  hospitality  of  the  planters  might  greatly 
interfere  with  my  scheme  of  geologizing  in  the  South- 
ern states.  In  the  letters  of  introduction  furnished  me 
at  Washington  it  was  particularly  requested  that  in* 
formation  respecting  my  objects,  and  facilities  of 

103 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

moving  speedily  from  place  to  place,  should  be  given 
me  instead  of  dinners  and  society. " 

Georgian  hospitality  was  responsible  for  the  inven- 
tion of  the  cotton  gin.  Eli  Whitney  was  a  New  England 
visitor  to  Savannah,  where  he  was  invited  to  become  a 
guest  on  the  plantation  of  Mrs.  Nathanael  Greene, 
twelve  miles  out  of  Savannah.  His  skill  in  devising  an 
improvement  in  her  embroidery  frame  led  her  to  sug- 
gest to  neighborhood  visitors,  who  had  told  of  their 
longing  for  a  machine  to  gin  cotton,  that  they  apply  to 
her  guest;  "he  can  make  anything,"  she  said.  The 
result  was  the  patent  of  the  cotton  gin  in  1794. 

There  was  a  time  when  it  was  thought  that  the  lands 
along  the  Savannah  where  the  cotton  later  grew  so 
luxuriantly  were  a  fit  place  for  the  mulberry  tree  and 
the  culture  of  silk.  General  Oglethorpe  urged  the  col- 
onists at  Ebenezer,  thirty  miles  up  the  Savannah,  to 
devote  themselves  to  this  industry.  In  1742  he  sent 
five  hundred  mulberry  trees  to  the  settlement  made  in 
1734  by  seventy-eight  Salzburgers  from  Germany.  For 
a  while  his  scheme  was  a  success;  in  1764  the  Salz- 
burgers sent  nearly  seven  thousand  pounds  of  cocoons 
to  Savannah,  more  than  half  the  total  amount  received 
there  from  the  tributary  country.  For  some  years  pro- 
duction continued  to  increase ;  then  there  was  someone 
in  every  family  who  could  raise  the  cocoons  and  make 
the  silk.  But  by  the  beginning  of  the  Eevolution  the 
industry  was  dead. 

When,  in  February,  1733,  Oglethorpe  went  to  the 
site  of  Savannah,  it  was  called  Yamacraw.  Tomo 
Chachi,  the  chief,  granted  leave  to  make  a  settlement. 
Then  came  the  beginning  of  Savannah,  of  which  an 
early  account  has  told : 

104 


ALONG  THE  SAVANNAH  RIVER 

"They  landed  the  bedding  and  other  little  neces- 
saries, and  all  the  people  lay  on  shore.  The  ground 
they  encamped  upon  is  the  edge  of  the  river  where  the 
Key  is  intended  to  be.  Until  the  7th  was  spent  in  mak- 
ing a  Crane,  and  unloading  the  goods ;  which  done,  Mr. 
Oglethorpe  divided  the  people ;  employing  part  in  clear- 
ing the  land  for  seed,  part  in  beginning  the  palisade, 
and  the  remainder  in  felling  the  trees  where  the  town 
is  to  stand. 

* '  On  the  9th  Mr.  Oglethorpe  and  Colonel  Bull  marked 
out  the  Square,  the  Streets,  and  fifty  Lots  for  houses 
of  the  town ;  and  the  first  House  (which  was  ordered  to 
be  made  of  clapboards)  was  begun  that  day. 

"The  town  lies  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  Savan- 
nah, upon  a  plateau  the  top  of  a  hill.  .  .  .  The  river 
washes  the  foot  of  the  hill,  which  stretches  along  the 
side  of  it  about  a  mile,  and  from  a  terrace  forty  feet 
perpendicular  above  high  water. 

"From  the  Key,  looking  eastward,  you  may  discern 
the  river  as  far  as  the  islands  of  the  sea ;  and  westward 
one  may  see  it  wind  through  the  woods  above  six  miles. 
The  river  is  one  thousand  feet  wide,  the  water  fresh 
and  deep  enough  for  ships  of  seventy  tons  to  come  up 
close  to  the  side  of  the  Key. ' ' 

Tomo  Chachi,  King  of  Yamacraw,  died  in  1739,  and 
was  buried  in  Court  House  Square  in  Savannah,  one  of 
the  open  spaces  for  which  the  resident  of  the  city  thanks 
the  far-seeing  Oglethorpe,  as  do  those  who  choose  Sa- 
vannah's gift  of  summer  in  winter.  For  more  than  a 
century  visitors  have  sought  the  rare  pleasures  af- 
forded by  the  city,  its  Forsyth  Park,  its  busy  river,  its 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  glorious  paved  roads, 
its  famous  Tybee  Beach,  its  streets  where  camelias  and 

105 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

oleanders  grow  on  trees,  "where  sidewalks  are  over- 
hung with  oranges  and  banana  trees,  magnolias 
and  palmettoes. ' ' 

In  Savannah  the  people  talk  of  the  climate,  of 
course.  They  talk,  too,  of  their  rich  semi-tropical  vege- 
tation. But  they  do  not  forget  to  speak  of  the  tradi- 
tion of  John  Wesley  and  George  Whitefield,  who 
preached  in  the  open  space  because  no  building  could 
accommodate  the  people  who  thronged  to  hear  them, 
and  they  talk,  too,  of  the  wonderful  Independent  Pres- 
byterian Church,  destroyed,  it  is  true,  in  the  great  fire 
of  1889,  but  rebuilt  with  such  fidelity  that  William  Dean 
Howells  was  able  to  say : 

"In  architecture  the  primacy  must  be  yielded  above 
every  other  religious  edifice  in  Savannah  to  the  famous 
Presbyterian  Church,  rebuilt  in  exact  form  after  its 
destruction  by  fire.  The  structure  on  the  outside  is  of 
such  Sir  Christopher  Wrennish  renaissance  that  one 
might  well  seem  to  be  looking  at  it  in  a  London  street, 
but  the  interior  is  of  such  unique  loveliness  that  no 
church  in  London  can  compare  with  it.  Whoever  would 
realize  its  beauty  must  go  at  once  to  Savannah,  and 
forget  for  one  beatific  moment  in  its  presence,  the  ceil- 
ings of  Tiepolo,  and  the  roofs  of  Veronese." 

No  visitor  thinks  of  leaving  the  city  that  has  such 
high  regard  for  the  relics  of  the  past  until  he  has  seen 
wonderful  Bonaventure  Cemetery,  where  the  great 
trees  festooned  with  Spanish  moss  stretch  away  on 
every  side,  grim,  gray,  splendid,  fantastic.  John  Muir, 
who  was  penniless  when  he  reached  Savannah,  spent 
the  nights  of  a  week  in  a  thicket  under  the  trees  of  the 
cemetery,  and  spoke  of  the  noble  avenue  of  live-oaks, 
"the  most  conspicuous  glory  of  Bonaventure."  He 

106 


THE    INDEPENDENT    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH,    SAVANNAH,    GEORGIA 
"The  interior  ...  of  ...  unique  loveliness" — William  Dean  Howells 


ALONG  THE  SAVANNAH  RIVER 

declared  them  the  most  magnificent-planted  trees  he 
had  ever  seen.  "The  main  branches  reach  out  hori- 
zontally until  they  come  together  over  the  driveway 
embowering  it  through  its  entire  length,  while  each 
branch  is  adorned  like  a  garden  with  ferns,  flowers, 
grasses  and  dwarf  palmettoes,"  the  awed  scientist  said. 
Then  he  added : 

"Bonaventure  is  called  a  graveyard,  a  town  of  the 
dead,  but  the  graves  are  powerless  in  such  a  depth  of 
life.  The  supply  of  living  water,  the  song  of  birds,  the 
gorgeous  confidence  of  flowers,  the  calm,  undisturbable 
grandeur  of  the  oaks  mark  the  place  of  graves  as  one 
of  the  Lord's  most  favored  abodes  of  life  and  light." 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  THE  HEART  OF  GEORGIA 

THERE    is    nothing    monotonous    about    the 
courses  of  the  Ocmulgee,  the  Oconee  and  the 
Altamaha  through  the  Coastal  Plain  of  Georgia, 
for  precipitous  bluffs  and  deep  valleys  mark  their 
progress  through  the  heart  of  the  state  and  on  to 
the  sea. 

When  Sidney  Lanier  was  a  boy  he  delighted  to 
ramble  among  the  Indian  mounds  or  along  the  banks 
of  the  Ocmulgee,  which  flows  through  Macon,  his  native 
place.  With  his  brother  and  sister  he  used  to  plunge 
into  the  woods,  across  the  marsh,  for  a  day  among 
doves,  blackbirds,  robins,  plover,  snipe  and  rabbits. 
The  memory  of  those  days  was  with  him  many  years 
later  when  he  made  in  his  first  book,  while  talking  of 
playing  the  flute,  a  comparison  that  must  have  had  its 
inspiration  in  the  rambles  by  the  river : 

"It  is  like  walking  in  the  woods,  amongst  wild 
flowers,  just  before  you  go  into  some  vast  cathedral. 
For  the  flute  seems  to  me  to  be  particularly  the  wood 
instrument ;  it  speaks  the  gloss  of  green  leaves  and  the 
pathos  of  torn  branches ;  it  calls  up  the  strange  mosses 
that  are  under  dead  leaves,  of  wild  plants  that  hide; 
and  it  breathes  oak  fragrances  that  vanish;  it  expresses 
to  us  the  natural  images  of  music." 

But  perhaps  the  best  description  of  the  country 

108 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  GEORGIA 

he  knew  and  loved  so  well  was  given  by  indirection  in 
his  cry  "From  the  Flats,"  written  when  he  was  in 
Florida  seeking  health : 

What  heartache — ne'er  a  hill! 
Inexorable,  vapid,  vague  and  chill, 
The  drear  sand-levels  drain  my  spirits  low. 
With  one  poor  word  they  tell  me  all  they  know, 
Whereat  their  stupid  tongues,  to  tease  my  pain, 
Do  drawl  it  o'er  again  and  o'er  again. 
They  hurt  my  heart  with  grief  I  cannot  name: 

Always  the  same,  the  same. 

Nature  hath  no  surprise, 
No  ambuscade  of  beauty  'gainst  mine  eyes 
From  brake  or  lurking  dell  or  deep  defile; 
No  humors,  frolic  forms — this  mile,  that  mile; 
No  rich  reserves  or  happy-valley  hopes 
Beyond  the  bend  of  roads,  the  distant  slopes, 
Her  fancy  fails,  her  wild  is  all  run  tame: 

Ever  the  same,  the  same. 

Oh,  might  I  through  these  tears 
But  glimpse  some  hill  my  Georgia  high  uprears, 
Where  white  the  quartz  and  pink  the  pebbles  shine, 
The  hickory  heavenward  strives,  the  muscadine 
Swings  o'er  the  slope,  the  oak's  far-falling  shade 
Darkens  the  dogwood  in  the  bottom  glade, 
And  down  the  hollow  from  a  ferny  nook 

Lull  sings  a  little  brook. 

The  hospitable  Macon  of  Lanier  sends  broadcast  its 
invitation  to  travelers  in  the  west  of  Georgia.  "Our 
welcome  is  as  warm  as  the  southern  sun  that  kisses  our 
cotton  fields,  as  broad  as  our  streets,  as  everlasting 
as  the  gnarled  and  hoary  old  trees  that  shadow  our 
highways/'  the  message  is  proclaimed.  And  access  is 
made  easy  by  the  Dixie,  National  and  Lee  Highways, 
which  lead  through  the  largest  peach  orchards  in  the 

109 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

world,  as  well  as  by  trees  laden  with  pecans  and  walnuts 
and  fields  of  alfalfa  that  give  such  contrast  to  the  cotton. 

From  Coleman's  Hill,  overlooking  the  city,  Macon 
presents  a  picture  full  of  life  and  color.  The  business 
district,  with  its  lofty  buildings,  the  comfortable-look- 
ing residence  section,  the  spacious  streets,  roomy  Tatt- 
nall  Square,  and  the  park  where  trees  flourish,  make 
one  eager  to  accept  the  invitation  to  come  down  into 
the  city  that  varies  the  appeal  of  some  of  its  neighbors 
by  owning  that,  while  it  does  not  possess  "the  finest 
climate  in  the  world,"  it  has  a  climate  worthy  of  the 
serious  attention  of  those  who  seek  a  winter  home. 

Because  of  her  readiness  to  recount  the  birth  there 
of  Sidney  Lanier  and  to  point  out  his  old  cottage  home 
on  High  Street,  Macon  can  understand  the  pride  of 
Eatonton,  the  Putnam  County  town  perhaps  forty  miles 
north,  because  it  was  the  birthplace  of  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  whose  daughter  has  told  how  "he  loved  the 
rolling  Bermuda  meadows,  the  red-clay  gullies,  the  far- 
reaching  cotton  fields,  the  slow-moving  muddy  streams, 
and  the  oak  and  hickory  forests  of  old  Putnam,  with  an 
intensity  that  time  never  dulled." 

His  description  of  the  old  town  calls  to  mind  many 
another  countryside  town  in  the  state,  and  makes  one 
hungry  to  visit  it.  It  was,  he  says : 

"A  sleepy  little  town  in  middle  Georgia,  which  had 
a  court-house,  a  tavern,  several  wide  streets,  many  fine 
trees,  and  a  number  of  old  colonial  homes.  Many  of 
these  stately  structures  still  rise  solemnly  from  behind 
their  boxwood  borders,  giving  pleasure  to  the  stranger 
as  he  peers  at  them  through  the  screen  of  odorous  cedar 
and  brightly-blooming  creeper,  myrtle  and  oleander, 
which  shelter  the  columned  piazzas  from  a  too-pene- 
trating gaze." 
no 


THE    HOME    OF    SIDNEY    LANIER,    MACON,    GEORGIA 


NEGRO    CAKIN    AT    A    GEORGIA    TURPENTINE    STILL 


ALONG  A  COUNTRY  ROAD  IN  GEORGIA 


IN  THE   HEART  OF   GEORGIA 

Probably  it  was  of  this  boyhood  home  Uncle  Remus 
was  thinking  when  he  wrote  of  one  of  his  heroes :  "His 
lot  was  cast  among  the  most  democratic  people  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  and  in  a  section  where,  to  this  day, 
the  ideals  of  character  and  conduct  are  held  in  higher 
esteem  than  wealth  or  ancient  lineage. '  ' 

The  first  glimpse  of  the  outside  world  came  to  the 
Eatonton  boy  one  day  in  the  village  post-office  when,  in 
the  Milledgeville  paper,  he  saw  an  advertisement  that 
a  boy  was  wanted  in  the  printing  office  at  Turnwold, 
a  plantation  some  miles  from  Eatonton.  He  secured 
the  situation,  and  while  there  he  heard  the  mythical 
animal  stories  that  later  formed  the  basis  of  the  vol- 
umes of  the  Uncle  Remus  series. 

Milledgeville,  the  great  town  of  the  neighborhood 
then,  as  it  is  to-day,  has  always  been  proud  of  its 
sightly  location  on  the  Oconee — or  the  O'Conee,  as  Mrs. 
Annie  Royall,  traveler  of  1830,  called  it.  The  town  is 
also  proud  of  its  history — it  was  once  the  capital  of 
the  state,  and  three  miles  away,  at  Fort  Wilkinson,  was 
signed  an  important  treaty  with  the  Creeks. 

Another  early  traveler,  Lyell,  in  his  "Travels  in 
North  America, ' '  published  in  1842,  described  the  most 
striking  feature  of  the  country  about  Milledgeville,  the 
deep  gullies,  four  miles  west  of  town.  These  gullies 
in  the  clay  are  about  fifty  feet  deep.  There  are  many 
like  them  in  the  central  and  western  section  of  Georgia. 
The  Milledgeville  gullies  are  the  most  famous,  though 
the  largest  are  south  of  Columbus  on  the  Chatta- 
hoochee.  These  strange  gashes  in  the  earth  increase 
in  size  year  by  year;  some  of  them  work  backward  as 
much  as  three  hundred  feet  in  thirty  years.  In  the 
gullies  are  curious  pinnacles,  islands  and  sharp,  ser- 
in 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

rated  ridges.  Contrasting  colors  of  red  and  white 
combine  with  the  green  of  the  pine  trees  in  an  un- 
usual manner. 

It  was  through  this  country  that  Captain  Basil  Hall, 
the  Englishman,  made  his  way  in  1828.  In  his 
''Travels"  he  gave  a  description  that  will  be  recog- 
nized in  certain  sections,  by  the  modern  traveler.  Al- 
most everywhere  he  found  sand,  feebly  held  together 
by  a  short,  wiry  grass,  shaded  by  the  endless  forest. 
"It  was  a  long  time  before  I  got  tired  of  the  scenery  of 
the  pine  barrens,"  he  said.  "There  was  something 
very  graceful  in  the  millions  upon  millions  of  tall  and 
slender  columns  growing  up  in  solitude,  not  crowded 
upon  one  another,  but  gradually  appearing  to  come 
closer  and  closer,  till  they  formed  a  compact  mass, 
beyond  which  nothing  was  to  be  seen." 

In  the  midst  of  the  pine  barrens  the  Ocmulgee  joins 
the  Oconee,  forming  the  Altamaha,  of  which  William 
Bartram,  son  of  J.  Bartram,  Philadelphia,  said  in  1773 : 

"How  gently  flow  thy  peaceful  floods,  0  Altamaha ! 
How  sublimely  rise  to  view,  on  thy  elevated  shore,  your 
magnolia  groves,  from  whose  top  the  surrounding  ex- 
panse is  perfumed,  by  clouds  of  incense,  blended  with 
the  exhaling  balm  of  the  liquid  amber,  and  odours  con- 
tinually rising  from  circumambient  groves." 

The  Altamaha  reaches  the  sea  between  two  famous 
districts.  To  the  north  are  the  lands  of  the  old  Mar- 
gravate  of  Azilia,  granted  in  1717  by  the  Carolina  Pro- 
prietaries to  Sir  Eobert  Montgomery,  on  condition  of 
payment  of  an  annual  quitrent  and  one-fourth  part  of 
all  gold  and  silver  found  in  Azilia.  But  the  would-be 
Margrave  was  unable  to  secure  colonists,  and  the  lands 
reverted  to  Carolina. 
112 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  GEORGIA 

It  was  Sidney  Lanier  who  gave  fame  to  a  bit  of 
the  country  to  the  south  of  the  Altamaha,  the  Marshes 
of  Glynn,  which  lie  close  to  Brunswick : 

To  the  edge  of  the  wood  I  am  drawn,  I  am  drawn, 
Where  the  gray  beach  glimmering  runs,  as  a  belt  of  the  dawn, 
For  a  mete  and  a  mark 
To  the  forest  dark : 

So: 

Affable  live-oak,  leaning  low, — 
Thus — with  your  favor — soft,  with  a  reverent  hand 
( Not  lightly  touching  your  person,  lord  of  the  land ! ) , 
Bending  your  beauty  aside,  with  a  step  I  stand 
On  the  firm-packed  sand, 

Free 
By  a  world  of  marsh  that  borders  a  world  of  sea. 

Sinuous  southward  and  sinuous  northward  the  shimmering  band 

Of  the  sand-beach  fastens  the  fringe  of  the  marsh  to  the  folds  of 

the  land. 
Inward  and  outward  to  northward  and  southward  the  beach-lines  linger 

and  curl 

As  a  silver-wrought  garment  that  clings  to  and  follows  the  firm  sweet 
limbs  of  a  girl. 

Above  the  marshes  is  Brunswick,  summer  resort 
where  shell  roads  lure  to  land  exploration,  while  in- 
tricate waterways  call  to  the  fisherman  and  the  boat- 
man. Then  it  is  the  gateway  to  famous  St.  Simon's 
island,  twelve  miles  away,  where  eight  miles  of  beach 
make  bathing  a  delight,  where  roads  under  the  wide- 
spreading,  dreamy,  moss-festooned  oaks  point  the  way 
to  spots  made  memorable  by  the  visits  of  early  ex- 
plorers and  by  the  gathering  of  the  crowds  which  came 
to  hear  John  Wesley  preach. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  southern  counties  of  Georgia  are  the  home 
of  strange  natural  features  that  make  the  re- 
gion remarkable  all  the  way  from  Albany  on 
the  Flint  Eiver  to  the  banks  of  St.  Mary's,  not  far 
from  Jacksonville,  Florida. 

Among  Albany's  claims  to  the  interest  both  of 
scientists  and  of  the  curious  is  the  great  flowing  Blue 
Spring,  four  miles  south  of  town,  where  the  water  rises 
under  pressure  through  a  roughly  circular  opening  in 
limestone.  The  flow  is  enormous — from  eighteen  mil- 
lion gallons  to  eighty-seven  million  gallons  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  The  water  is  described  as  beautifully  clear 
and  very  transparent,  though  faintly  bluish  in  color. 
This,  the  largest  of  a  number  of  springs  near  the 
Florida  line,  has  been  studied  carefully  by  scientists 
because  of  its  unusual  characteristics. 

From  Valdosta  to  the  Alabama  line  the  limestone 
through  which  springs  flow  is  responsible  also  for  curi- 
ous lime-sinks,  where  underground  caverns  have  col- 
lapsed. In  the  basins  so  formed  lakes  and  ponds  have 
come.  Many  of  these  bodies  of  water  are  several 
hundred  acres  in  extent,  while  others  are  much  smaller. 
The  largest,  Ocean  Pond,  near  Valdosta,  has  an  area 
of  about  six  square  miles.  An  odd  thing  is  that,  while 
large  lakes  are  free  from  timber,  the  smaller  ponds  are 
bordered  by  a  thick  growth  of  cypress.  The  depth  of 
water  varies  greatly  with  the  season,  not  because  of 

114 


IN  GEORGIA'S  LAND  OF   WONDERS 

rainfall,  but  because  of  the  opening  or  closing  of 
passages  underground. 

While  the  lakes  have  clear  water  the  slow-moving, 
canal-like  rivers  of  the  limestone  region  are  dark,  not 
because  of  mud,  but  by  reason  of  the  organic  matter 
carried  by  them.  The  Ocklockonee  and  the  Withla- 
coochee  are  examples. 

Then  there  are  the  bays  in  which  many  of  the  creeks 
of  this  strange  region  have  their  sources.  Sometimes 
these  bays  are  called  swamps,  but  with  their  densely 
wooded  area  they  are  more  attractive  than  swamps. 
The  luxurious  vegetation  conserves  the  rainfall,  and 
so  makes  possible  the  creeks.  Chuff  Bay,  seven  miles 
west  of  Waycross,  is  one  of  the  best  examples  of 
the  bay. 

The  name  of  these  creek-sources  is  not  intended  to 
call  to  mind  the  indentations  on  the  seacoast  which  bear 
the  same  title ;  probably  it  came  from  the  presence  of 
dense  growths  of  bay  trees  along  extensions  of  creeks 
and  river  swamps  into  the  heart  of  higher  lands,  which 
are  supplied  with  water  by  drainage.  These  extensions 
are  also  known  as  bays,  though  they  are  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  moist,  wooded  sources  of  creeks. 

Many  of  these  creeks,  as  well  as  some  of  the  larger 
streams,  are  bordered  by  sand  hills,  or  belts,  which 
are  frequently  several  miles  wide  and  from  twenty  to 
thirty  feet  thick.  One  of  the  best  places  to  see  these 
sand  hills — reminders  of  the  desert,  the  south  shore 
of  Lake  Michigan,  or  the  wind-swept  seacoast  of  parts 
of  Virginia — is  near  Waycross,  along  the  Satilla  River. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  one  of  the  strangest 
parts  of  the  United  States  is  not  far  from  Waycross 
and  the  Satilla.  This  is  the  great  Okefinokee  Swamp, 

115 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

whose  seven  hundred  square  miles  occupies  part  of 
Charlton,  Ware  and  Clinch  counties  in  Georgia.  Pas- 
sengers on  the  railroad  from  Waycross  to  Folkston 
go  within  a  short  distance  of  the  northeast  border  of 
the  swamp,  most  of  them  in  entire  ignorance  of  the 
mysterious  depths  that  are  so  close  at  hand.  There 
bears,  deer  and  panther  live.  These  beasts  sometimes 
find  their  way  to  the  surrounding  country.  A  corre- 
spondent of  the  Atlanta  Constitution  once  interviewed 
an  old  hunter,  whose  home  was  in  the  north  end  of  the 
swamp,  who  said  that  in  forty  years  he  had  killed  one 
hundred  and  fifty  bears,  two  hundred  deer,  and  hun- 
dreds of  wolves,  minks  and  wildcats. 

Although  the  swamp  was  known  in  the  days  of  the 
Indians,  their  accounts  of  it  were  unreliable.  Since 
the  days  of  the  Seminoles  some  explorers  have  made 
their  way  into  the  hidden  depths,  but  those  who  have 
been  able  to  tell  what  they  saw  have  been  few. 

The  first  written  account  of  Okefinokee  was  given  in 
1791  by  William  Bartram,  who  passed  near  the  morass 
and  learned  from  the  Indians  something  of  its  secrets 
and  its  legends.  They  told  him  of  a  strange  tribe  of 
Indians  that  lived  on  fertile  islands  far  from  the  bor- 
ders. The  men  were  fierce  hunters  and  the  women  were 
beautiful.  Hunters  from  outside  who  lost  their  way  in 
the  swamp  were  fed  by  some  of  the  women  who  warned 
them  to  flee  from  the  wrath  of  their  husbands.  They 
returned  home,  told  of  their  adventure,  and  sought  to 
lead  others  of  the  tribe  to  the  spot  where  the  beautiful 
women  had  been  seen.  But  they  became  engaged  in  a 
labyrinth  from  which  there  was  no  escape,  except  by 
returning  to  the  outside  world. 

It  is  certain  that  Indians  did  live  there.     A  few 

116 


o 

g  X 


.i 


IN  GEORGIA'S  LAND  OF   WONDERS 

white  people  have  lived  on  islands  here  and  there.  It 
is  said  that  during  the  Civil  War  some  deserters  from 
the  army  escaped  to  the  recesses  of  Okefinokee  and 
dwelt  there  in  security. 

Attempts  have  been  made  to  drain  the  swamp  and 
to  market  the  cypress  which  grows  there  in  great  quan- 
tities. In  1890  the  Suwanee  (spelled  with  a  single  "n" 
in  this  case)  Canal  Company  bought  from  the  state 
three  hundred  and  eighty  square  miles  at  twenty-six 
and  one-half  cents  per  acre.  From  private  owners  they 
brought  the  remainder  of  the  reservation.  From  a 
point  on  the  eastern  margin  of  the  swamp  a  canal  was 
cut  by  dredges,  fifty-five  feet  wide  and  six  feet  deep. 
Day  and  night  the  work  was  carried  on,  electric  flash- 
lights being  used  when  daylight  failed.  The  rate  of 
progress  was  about  three  miles  a  year.  From  the  same 
point  a  ditch  was  dug  to  the  St.  Mary 's  River.  This  was 
to  be  used  in  floating  out  logs  and  in  draining  the 
swamp.  Later  a  sawmill  was  built,  as  well  as  a  railroad 
connecting  with  what  is  now  the  Atlantic  Coast  Line, 
and  much  cypress  timber  was  prepared  for  shipment 
and  sent  to  distant  markets. 

The  president  of  the  company  died  in  1895,  and  the 
company  suspended  operations.  "The  ten  or  twelve 
miles  of  canal  and  five  or  six  miles  of  drainage  ditch 
began  to  fill  up  with  vegetation,"  a  scientist  wrote,  in 
telling  of  the  swamp  and  its  fortunes.  "The  steam- 
boats and  dredges  mostly  sank  or  were  burned,  the 
sawmill  fell  to  decay,  and  the  rails  of  the  logging  road 
were  taken  up. " 

Pines  and  cypress  are  the  most  common  trees  of 
the  swamp.  A  curious  shrub  attaches  itself  to  the 
cypresses.  "It  is  a  handsome  little  evergreen  of  the 

117 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

heath  family — confined  to  Georgia,  Florida  and  Ala- 
bama," wrote  the  scientist  already  quoted.  "It  some- 
times stands  erect,  two  or  three  feet  tall,  but  usually  it 
starts  at  the  base  of  a  cypress  tree,  and  its  stems  in- 
sinuate themselves  between  the  inner  and  outer  layers 
of  the  bark  of  the  tree,  gradually  working  up  to  a  height 
of  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  sending  out 
branches  with  leaves  and  flowers  every  few  feet.  Grow- 
ing in  this  way  the  shrub  might  easily  be  taken  for  a 
parasite,  but  its  stems  can  always  be  traced  down  to  the 
ground,  and  they  bear  no  rootlets  and  never  penetrate 
to  the  living  part  of  the  bark.  As  far  as  known,  this 
manner  of  climbing  has  no  parallel  in  the  whole  vege- 
table kingdom." 

The  climbing  heath  plant  is  most  common  in  the 
bays,  where  the  swamp  muck  is  three  or  four  feet  deep 
and  the  pine  trees  cannot  grow.  The  cypresses  to  which 
the  heath  clings  are  covered  with  hanging  moss. 

Where  the  muck  is  six  feet  deep  above  the  sandy 
bottom  not  even  the  cypress  tree  can  grow.  In  such 
places  prairies  appear.  The  prairies  are  all  in  the 
eastern  half  of  the  swamp,  and  there  are  in  all  about 
one  hundred  square  miles  of  them.  An  expert  says  that 
"in  wet  weather  the  water  covers  them  so  that  one 
can  go  almost  anywhere  in  a  shallow  boat,  especially  by 
following  the  'gator  roads,*  or  trails  made  by  the  alli- 
gators, but  when  the  water  is  low  the  prairies  are  im- 
passable for  boats,  while  too  boggy  to  walk  in." 

It  has  been  said  that  "from  a  scenic  standpoint 
Okefinokee  is  well  worth  visiting  at  any  time  of  the  year. 
Its  almost  untrodden  islands,  its  dense,  moss-garlanded 
bays,  and  its  broad,  open  prairies  all  have  their  peculiar 
charms.  There  is  nothing  else  exactly  like  it  in  the 

118 


IN   GEORGIA'S  LAND   OF    WONDERS 

world.  There  is  really  more  reason  for  preserving 
Okefinokee  than  Niagara,  for  its  destruction  would 
benefit  but  few  people  in  the  long  run,  and  the  loss  to 
science  would  be  far  greater.  It  would  have  been  much 
better  if  this  enchanting  wilderness  had  remained  in 
the  possession  of  the  state,  to  be  perpetuated  as  a  forest 
and  game  preserve  for  all  future  generations." 

The  Okefinokee  Society  has  been  organized  to  se- 
cure funds  for  the  purchase  of  the  swamp,  that  it  may 
be  presented  to  the  Government  for  permanent  preser- 
vation. Sportsmen  and  nature-lovers  are  longing  to 
see  them  succeed. 

But  Mrs.  Hemans  had  a  different  idea..  She  told 
the  legend  of  the  island  of  fair  women  in  the  heart  of 
the  swamp,  and  concluded : 

Let  no   vain   dream  thy  heart  beguile, 
Oh,  seek  thou  not  the  Fountain  Isle. 


FROM  JACKSONVILLE  TO  ST.  AUGUSTINE 

MORE  than  a  hundred  years  ago  the  first  set- 
tlement was  made  by  the  side  of  the  St. 
Johns,  and  within  the  present  site  of  Jack- 
sonville.   But  what  is  a  century  when  compared  with 
the  centuries  boasted  by  hoary  St.  Augustine?    For 
untold  generations  before  the  coming  of  the  first  white 
resident  the  Indians  were  accustomed  to  come  to  this 
locality  to  cross  the  river  on  their  way  south. 

To-day  few  travelers  go  to  Florida  who  do  not  enter 
by  way  of  Jacksonville,  from  which  railroads  radiate 
to  all  parts  of  the  state.  But  those  are  fortunate  who 
plan  to  spend  a  few  days  here,  for  the  wide  streets, 
lined  with  fine  business  buildings  and  residences,  the 
parks  and  public  squares,  the  hotels  and  the  hard  shell 
roads  make  the  stay  delightful.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  in  1901  one  of  the  country's  memorable  fires  visited 
the  city,  destroying  some  three  thousand  buildings 

In  early  days  the  route  from  Jacksonville  to  St. 
Augustine  was  up  the  St.  Johns  to  Picolata,  and  from 
there,  by  the  Picolata  road,  eighteen  miles.  This  road 
was  in  its  glory  during  the  days  of  the  Seminole  War, 
though  both  stage-drivers  and  passengers  had  to  keep 
anxious  watch  for  Indian  marauders.  One  day  a  the- 
atrical troupe  was  attacked  while  on  the  road,  and 
every  member  of  the  party  was  killed.  Recently  the 
site  of  the  tragedy,  eight  miles  from  St.  Augustine,  was 
marked  by  a  tablet. 
120 


FROM    JACKSONVILLE    TO    ST.    AUGUSTINE 

To-day  those  who  seek  St.  Augustine  from  Jackson- 
ville have  choice  of  the  railroad,  a  splendid  automobile 
road,  or  the  Inside  Waterway,  which  has  been  com- 
pleted from  Jacksonville  down  the  State  to  Key  West, 
taking  advantage  of  the  numerous  tidal  "rivers"  and 
inlets  separated  from  the  coast  by  narrow  peninsulas. 
Long  before  St.  Augustine  is  reached,  the  canal  leads 
into  Matanzas  Bay.  Light-draft  steamers  ply  between 
the  cities.  Indeed,  it  is  possible  to  secure  passage  all 
the  way  from  Jacksonville  to  Miami,  The  trip  is  not 
recommended  to  those  who  are  in  a  hurry,  but  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  be  remembered  by  those  who  are  glad  to 
spend  a  week  steaming  along  the  low-lying  shores,  often 
within  sight  and  sound  of  the  open  Atlantic,  and  always 
amid  novel  surroundings.  Those  fortunate  pilgrims 
who  have  their  own  yachts  or  houseboats  will  be  glad 
to  stretch  the  length  of  the  passage  into  weeks.  They 
need  to  be  sure,  however,  that  they  are  not  trusting 
themselves  to  vessels  of  more  than  three  and  one-half 
feet  draft.  As  a  guide  to  navigation,  which  fre- 
quently calls  for  care  and  judgment,  the  United  States 
Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey  provides,  for  twenty  cents, 
the  Inside  Eoute  Pilot,  which  gives  detailed  instruc- 
tions for  every  mile  of  the  way,  including  a  series  of 
admirable  general  charts.  Detailed  charts,  supplied  at 
a  nominal  price,  are  described  in  the  book.  The  eighty- 
seven  pages  tell  of  the  route  all  the  way  from  New 
York  to  Beaufort  Entrance  and  New  River,  North 
Carolina,  the  seacoast  and  inlets  between  Beaufort 
Entrance  and  Winyah  Bay,  South  Carolina,  and  the 
inland  water  route  from  Winyah  Bay  to  Key  West. 
The  distance  is  more  than  fifteen  hundred  nautical 
miles.  But  who  objects  to  a  few  extra  miles  on  a  trip 

121 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

like  this !  So  many  have  responded  to  the  lure  of  these 
waterways  that  the  Pilot  has  gone  into  a  third  edition. 

The  sort  of  detailed  information  given  in  this  invalu- 
able guide  will  be  seen  from  an  extract : 

"From  St.  Johns  River  to  Miami,  on  Biscayne  Bay, 
there  is  a  continuous  inside  waterway  through  canals 
and  natural  channels,  in  which  the  controlling  depths 
vary  from  five  to  seven  feet.  The  waterway  is  dredged 
to  a  depth  of  five  feet,  but  some  sections  are  subject 
to  considerable  shoaling,  and  are  redredged  at  irregu- 
lar intervals.  Four  feet,  or  even  a  little  less  at  times, 
is  the  greatest  depth  that  can  ordinarily  be  expected 
through  the  waterway  at  all  times,  but  powerboats 
drawing  four  feet  and  even  a  little  over,  are  able,  under 
favorable  conditions,  to  drag  through  the  very  soft  bot- 
tom at  the  shoalest  places.  .  .  .  These  waters  are  non- 
tidal,  except  in  the  vicinity  of  the  inlets,  but  are  affected 
to  a  considerable  extent  by  strong  northerly  and  south- 
erly winds,  which  may  alter  the  surface  level  as  much  as 
two  feet  in  places.  A  stranger  should  have  but  little 
difficulty  in  taking  through  a  draft  up  to  three  feet, 
except,  perhaps,  at  a  few  places;  but,  for  a  greater 
draft,  he  should  employ  a  pilot  over  parts  of  the  route, 
at  least. ' ' 

St.  Augustine,  the  first  point  of  interest  on  the  In- 
side Waterway  after  Jacksonville  has  been  left  behind, 
is  on  a  narrow  peninsula  between  the  San  Sebastian 
Eiver  and  Matanzas  Bay — the  old  Spanish  Eiver  of 
Dolphins — and  is  within  two  miles  of  the  open  Atlantic. 
Here  Ponce  de  Leon  landed  in  1512  and  again  in  1521, 
but  the  first  permanent  settlement  on  the  site  of  the 
old  Indian  town  Selooe  was  not  made  until  September, 
1565,  when  Pedro  Menendez  de  Aviles  took  possession 
122 


FROM    JACKSONVILLE    TO    ST.    AUGUSTINE 

in  the  name  of  Philip  II  of  Spain,  and  named  the  place 
St.  Augustine. 

During  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  settlement 
endured  sieges  from  enemies  who  came  by  sea  and  as- 
saults by  Indians  who  came  by  land.  Spain  and  France 
and  England  played  hide-and-seek  upon  the  battlements 
erected  in  early  days. 

In  1763,  when  England  exchanged  Cuba  for 
Florida,  St.  Augustine  was  spoken  of  as  "running 
along  the  shore  at  the  foot  of  a  pleasant  hill  adorned 
with  trees,  down  by  the  sea  side  standeth  the  church 
and  monastery  of  St.  Augustine.  The  best  part  of 
the  town  is  called  St.  John's  fort.  The  town  is  also 
fortified  with  bastions  and  with  cannon.  On  the  north 
and  south,  outside  the  walls,  are  the  Indian  towns." 

England  was  still  proprietor  during  the  early  years 
of  the  War  of  the  Revolution.  When  news  of  the  adop- 
tion of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  received, 
Samuel  Adams  and  John  Hancock  were  burned  in  effigy 
in  the  plaza,  which  is  still  the  central  feature  of  the 
little  city. 

Thirty-six  years  later,  when  St.  Augustine  was 
again  under  Spanish  rule,  the  plaza  was  the  scene  of 
the  unveiling  of  a  monument  commemorating  the  liberal 
constitution  adopted  by  the  Spanish  Cortes.  The  in- 
scription declares  that  here  in  this  Plaza  of  the  Consti- 
tution the  monument  was  erected  "for  eternal 
remembrance,"  yet  only  two  years  later,  in  1814,  the 
monument,  together  with  others  of  like  kind  all  over  the 
Spanish  dominions,  was  ordered  removed,  since  the 
constitution  celebrated  had  been  declared  void.  The 
people  of  St.  Augustine  removed  the  tablet  but 
replaced  it  in  1818.  Thus  this  monument  is  a  memorial 

123 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

to  Spain's  fatal  method  of  playing  with  her  colonies 
until  she  lost  them. 

Three  years  after  the  restoration  of  the  tablet 
Florida  was  bought  by  the  United  States.  The  centen- 
nial of  American  rule  is  to  be  celebrated  in  1921. 

Within  reach  of  the  sleepy  old  plaza,  and  not  far 
from  the  Ponce  de  Leon  and  Cordova  hotels,  are  some 
of  St.  Augustine's  oldest  buildings.  The  cathedral,  on 
the  north,  was  begun  in  1793.  In  the  fire  of  1887  it  was 
destroyed,  only  the  walls  remaining.  While  it  was 
enlarged  when  rebuilt,  the  central  portion  appears  as  it 
was  before  the  fire.  The  attention  of  visitors  is  called 
to  the  four  old  bells,  one  of  them  dating  from  1682. 

To  the  west  is  the  post-office,  erected  in  1591.  Here 
the  Spanish  governors  had  their  residence.  And  one 
block  south  is  the  public  library,  which  was  the 
king's  bakery. 

In  several  directions  from  the  plaza  is  "the  oldest 
house  in  the  United  States."  There  are  at  least  four 
houses  for  which  the  claim  is  made.  One  is  the  old 
Fabio  Hotel,  with  balcony  overhanging  the  narrow  Hos- 
pital Street  and  boarded-up  doors  and  windows.  When 
the  author  visited  it  the  only  occupant  was  an  old-time 
cabinet-maker  who  was  lovingly  fashioning  curios  out 
of  driftwood  picked  up  on  Anastasia  Island,  the  city's 
beach  resort  across  the  Matanzas.  This  building,  like 
many  others  in  early  St.  Augustine,  was  constructed  of 
the  curious  coquina  or  shell  rock. 

The  second  attempt  to  find  the  oldest  house  led  to 
the  Whitney  House,  whose  coquina  floors  and  mahog- 
any doors  made  it  look  quite  ancient.  During  a  pause 
to  read  the  brazen  claim,  that  it  was  built  in  1516  by 
Don  de  Tolledo,  companion  of  Ponce  de  Leon  on  his 

124 


FROM    JACKSONVILLE    TO    ST.    AUGUSTINE 

first  voyage,  the  doorkeeper  urged  the  reader's  en- 
trance. "Only  twenty-five  cents  to  see  the  oldest 
house, ' '  she  wheedled.  ' '  But  I  am  looking  for  the  house 
where  the  Historical  Society  has  its  quarters,"  she  was 
told.  '  *  That  house ! ' '  she  replied,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip. 
*  *  Why,  it  was  begun  when  this  house  was  old. ' ' 

Nevertheless,  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  after  a 
thorough  investigation,  has  expressed  the  opinion  that 
the  house  thus  despised,  the  Geronimo  Alvarez  House 
on  St.  Francis  Street,  has  the  right  to  precedence.  For 
this  the  claim  is  made  that  it  was  built  in  1565 — surely 
a  more  modest  story  than  that  told  for  its  rival.  It  is 
difficult  to  see  how  the  first  house  in  St.  Augustine  could 
have  been  built  nearly  fifty  years  before  the  city 
was  founded ! 

But  for  some  reason  St.  Augustine  people  are  not 
unanimous  in  owning  that  they  have  enough  relics  of 
undoubted  antiquity  to  render  it  unnecessary  to  make 
themselves  ridiculous  by  permitting  false  statements. 
Within  a  short  distance  of  hoary  Fort  Marion  are  the 
gates  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  Park,  where,  after  the 
unwary  tourist  has  been  relieved  of  an  admission  fee, 
he  is  shown  the  spring  discovered  by  Ponce  de  Leon  at 
his  first  landing;  the  cross  of  coquina  blocks,  buried 
deep  in  the  earth,  by  which  he  told  the  year  of  his  land- 
ing— fifteen  blocks  make  one  arm  of  the  cross,  while 
there  are  thirteen  blocks  in  the  shorter  arm ;  the  avenue 
of  palm  trees  down  which,  on  a  certain  day.  the  sun 
shines  in  a  special  way  on  the  cross,  as  planned  by 
Ponce  de  Leon;  the  coquina  pyramid  laid  by  the  dis- 
coverer, under  which  he  buried  his  armor  and  sword,  in 
token  of  possession  of  the  land;  the  armor  and  sword 
themselves,  discovered  under  the  pyramid ;  the  coquina 

125 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

blocks  of  the  ruined  first  chapel  in  America,  built  by 
him,  and  other  things,  ad  nauseam. 

"Why  do  you  tell  these  lies?"  the  editor  of  a  St. 
Augustine  newspaper  asked  the  woman  who  was  re- 
sponsible for  starting  the  stories.  "Well,  can  you  prove 
they  are  lies  ? ' '  she  asked  triumphantly. 

The  official  tourist 's  guide  to  the  city  speaks  of  the 
Fountain  of  Youth  in  noncommital  terms :  "We  come  to 
this  spring  of  crystal  water.  Beside  the  spring  we  see 
the  cross  of  stone." 

But  laughable  fake  claims  are  forgotten  in  standing 
before  the  venerable  city  gates,  last  remnant  of  the  old 
city  wall,  and  in  going  into  Fort  Marion,  begun  in  1665 
on  the  site  of  temporary  fortifications,  and  completed 
in  1756.  It  is  said  that  thirty  million  dollars  were  spent 
on  the  fortification  during  those  years.  No  wonder  the 
King  of  Spain  said,  "Its  curtains  and  bastions  must 
be  made  of  solid  silver." 

This  most  perfect  specimen  of  a  fortress  of  long 
ago,  with  its  bastions  and  tower,  its  plaza,  ramp  and 
terreplein,  its  casemates,  powder  magazine  and  dun- 
geon, its  moat  and  hot-shot  oven,  is  a  polygon  with  four 
equal  sides.  The  moat  is  dry,  and  the  entrance — pro- 
tected by  a  barbican,  as  the  outwork  was  called — is  by 
a  bridge  across  the  moat  and  then  into  the  fort  by  a 
drawbridge.  Over  the  drawbridge  go  throngs  of  visi- 
tors to  this  fortress  owned  by  the  United  States,  whose 
attractions  are  shown  under  the  guidance  of  the  St. 
Augustine  Historical  Society. 

To  many  the  most  pleasing  feature  of  the  frowning 
structure  that  tells  so  eloquently  of  days  of  strife  is 
seldom  mentioned — the  great  wall  of  one  of  the  dark 
rooms  where  the  light  flashed  by  the  guide  shows,  from 

126 


WITHIN    THE    WALLS    OF    FORT    MARION,    ST.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA 

<ft 


THE    OLD    CITY    GATES,    ST.    AUGUSTINE,    FLORIDA 


FROM    JACKSONVILLE    TO    ST.    AUGUSTINE 

the  curve  of  the  roof  to  the  floor,  a  clinging  mass  of 
maidenhair  fern  that  completely  hides  the  wall.  How 
did  it  come  there?  When  did  it  begin  to  grow?  Who 
can  tell? 

After  seeing  this  fern  casemate  one  is  in  the  mood 
to  cross  the  Matanzas  to  Anastasia  Island,  then  to  take 
the  nine-mile  drive  to  the  beach,  lingering  long  among 
overhanging  oaks  and  cedars,  and  gazing  on  the  palms 
and  ferns  that  lead  to  the  King's  Quarry,  where  the 
slaves  of  a  less  happy  day  cut  the  rock  for  the  fort  on 
the  mainland. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
ON  FLORIDA'S  HALIFAX  RIVER 

THERE  is  nothing  that  can  be  compared  to  the 
glorious  Florida  days  but  the  wondrous  Florida 
nights.    In  few  places  do  the  stars  shine  more 
brilliantly  and  the  vault  of  heaven  seem  so  spacious. 
And  when  the  moon  casts  soft  radiance  over  the  land- 
scape the  picture  is  complete. 

The  best  way  to  enjoy  the  glory  of  the  night  that 
makes  one  feel  like  singing  for  joy  is  to  lie  flat  on  the 
back  in  the  open  and  look  up.  Or,  if  the  observer  is  on 
a  night  train,  let  him  look  from  the  darkened  window 
of  his  berth  upon  the  graceful  pines  so  clearly  outlined 
against  the  night  sky ;  as  they  glide  by  in  ghostly  pro- 
cession they  seem  even  more  beautiful  than  in  the  day- 
light. The  necessity  of  leaving  the  train  before  the 
dawn  does  not  seem  a  tragedy  after  an  hour  spent  in 
such  star-gazing^ 

Indeed,  it  may  prove  a  blessing  in  disguise  if  the 
traveler  who  seeks  Halifax  River  reaches  Daytona  be- 
fore six  o'clock  on  a  December  morning  and  finds  no 
hack  waiting  to  take  him  across  the  water  to  his  hotel 
in  Seabreeze,  for  he  may  have  the  courage  to  face 
the  two-mile  walk.  And  what  a  walk  it  will  prove — 
down  the  long  shady  street,  under  the  arches  formed  by 
the  branches  of  the  oaks;  looking  up  at  the  trailing 
moss  that  swings  so  weirdly  in  the  breeze,  or  down  at 
the  flickering  checkers  of  light  and  shade  caused  by  the 
sub  tropic  moon ;  crossing  the  low  bridge  over  the  Hali- 

128 


ON  FLORIDA'S    HALIFAX  RIVER 

fax,  just  as  the  swift  dawn  removes  the  mystery  from 
the  water  and  makes  clear  the  path  to  the  wondrous 
beach  beyond  which  break  the  waves  whose  sound  has 
long  been  heard. 

Three  of  Florida's  most  home-like  resorts  are 
grouped  about  the  Halifax  River  at  a  point  perhaps 
one-third  the  way  from  Jacksonville  to  Miami,  and 
distant  from  New  York  less  than  thirty-six  hours.  On 
the  west  side  of  the  stream  is  Daytona,  while  across 
the  half-mile-long  bridge  are  Seabreeze  and  Daytona 
Beach,  where  palm-fringed  streets,  comfortable  homes 
with  magnolia  trees  all  around,  and  alluring  hotels  fill 
the  strip  of  land  between  the  river  and  the  sea. 

And  what  a  beach !  Five  hundred  feet  wide  at  low 
tide,  sloping  so  gently  toward  the  water  that  it  looks 
almost  a  plain,  sand  so  hard-packed  that  the  wheels  of 
the  flying  automobile  would  leave  no  trace  but  for  the 
weight  that  drives  the  moisture  from  below.  There  is 
no  place  like  this  for  pleasure  driving,  no  race-course 
equal  to  it  for  the  annual  races  where  world's  records 
have  been  made  by  De  Palma  and  Oldfield  and  other 
demons  of  the  road. 

De  Palma  may  have  found  pleasure  in  making  his 
mile  in  twenty-five  seconds  on  the  hard  sands  of  the 
eighteen-mile  beach,  but  thousands  of  machine-owners 
who  are  not  speed  maniacs  have  pleasure  far  greater 
in  driving  where  it  is  perfectly  safe  to  let  both  hands 
drop  for  a  moment  from  the  steering  wheel. 

The  beach  is  not  all  for  the  man  in  a  machine.  The 
pedestrian  thinks  it  is  for  him,  the  bather  says  it  is 
made  for  his  sport,  and  the  man  or  woman  with  the 
golf  club  feels  that  he  or  she  owns  this  fairway. 
" Isn't  it  great?"  one  enthusiast  said,  as  he  made  a 

9  129 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

drive  that  carried  the  ball  to  an  unaccustomed  dis- 
tance; "nothing  to  hinder,  not  a  tree  in  the  way!" 

Just  now  there  are  many  miles  along  this  famous 
beach  between  the  towns  which  send  admiring  thou- 
sands toward  the  sea.  But  some  day — and  that  day  is 
not  so  far  in  the  future — this  will  be  one  great  holiday- 
making  community  from  Ormond  to  Port  Orange, 
whose  citizens — if  they  take  to  heart  the  ideals  of  the 
leaders  of  to-day — will  not  be  eager  merely  to  ask 
tourists  to  fill  their  pockets,  but  will  at  the  same  time 
seek  to  make  all  comers  satisfied  and  happy. 

The  beach  along  this  favored  section  of  ocean  front- 
age is  the  beginning  of  what  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
varied  series  of  natural  features  to  be  found  in  the 
United  States.  A  walk  for  a  few  miles  back  from  the 
water  is  apt  to  show  a  ridge  of  sand  hills  which  has 
been  conquered  by  those  who  have  developed  the  town 
or  is  yet  to  be  conquered  by  those  who  will  continue 
the  development.  Palmetto  and  oak  scrub  grow  wild 
there,  as  do  the  live-oaks  and  the  cedars  a  few  rods 
farther  from  the  sea,  on  the  heaps  of  shells  left  by 
men  of  ages  long  gone  by,  or  on  sand  enriched  by  vege- 
tation that  has  been  decaying  for  centuries  uncounted. 

Then  comes  the  Halifax,  a  section  of  the  convenient 
series  of  river  and  inlets  that  provide  the  inland  navi- 
gation from  St.  Augustine  to  Miami.  Beyond  the  Hali- 
fax is  the  high  hammock,  where  trees  grow  thick  on 
low  hills ;  the  region  of  yellow  pines  or  of  shallow  grass- 
grown  ponds,  dry  most  of  the  time ;  then  thick  forests 
of  live-oak,  maple,  cedar,  elm,  and  other  semi-tropical 
trees,  where  wild  flowers  make  the  air  heavy  with  their 
fragrance,  and  orchids  tempt  the  climber;  a  bit  of 
prairie  where  pines  are  scattered  here  and  there,  and 

130 


1  1 

i 


3    B 


NEW    SMYRNA    DRIVE,    NEAR    DAYTONA,    FLORIDA 
On  the  Dixie  Highway 


ON  FLORIDA'S   HALIFAX  RIVER 

then  the  "flatwoods"  where  the  low  pines  nourish. 
Some  travelers  insist  that  Florida  vegetation  is  monot- 
onous, but  does  this  sound  monotonous?  And  one  of 
the  most  interesting  facts  about  these  belts  of  vegeta- 
tion within  a  few  miles  of  the  ocean  is  emphasized  by 
students  of  botany,  familiar  with  the  state,  who  assert 
that,  while  one  or  more  of  the  successive  belts  of  growth 
may  be  missing  at  different  sections  back  from  the 
river,  they  always  occur  in  the  same  invariable  order. 

If,  instead  of  plunging  into  the  interior,  the  tourist 
goes  down  the  beach  toward  Mosquito  Inlet  Light,  he 
will  have  abundant  opportunity  to  see  many  kinds  of 
semi-tropical  birds  in  fascinating  surroundings.  Al- 
most at  his  feet  are  the  beach-runners,  whose  move- 
ments are  too  rapid  for  analysis.  Over  the  breaking 
waves  hovers  a  flamingo,  at  times  thrusting  his  head 
beneath  the  surface  and  bringing  up  a  fish  which  he 
proposes  to  gulp  down  with  all  speed.  But  the  speedier 
gull  is  on  the  watch ;  he  darts  down  and,  with  neatness 
and  despatch,  robs  the  flamingo  of  his  prey,  frequently 
putting  his  bill  into  the  mouth  of  the  fisher-bird  and 
taking  the  morsel  from  the  throat. 

Birds  are  so  plentiful  that  it  is  not  a  surprise  to 
the  visitor  to  learn  that  he  is  well  within  the  Mosquito 
Inlet  Bird  Reservation,  where  the  Government  has  set 
apart  many  square  miles  for  the  protection  of  the  birds 
as  they  nest  or  spend  the  winter  or  pause  in  their 
migrations  to  the  north  or  to  the  south. 

The  reservation  is  a  naturalist's  paradise.  On  the 
narrow  sandspit  between  the  ocean  and  the  river  is 
cover  for  millions  of  birds,  while,  if  a  boat  is  taken  to 
some  of  the  many  bars  and  islands  that  lie  within  the 
limits  of  Superintendent  Pacetti's  bailiwick,  millions 

131 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

more  may  be  seen.  "You  should  come  this  way  at 
night,"  the  guide  said  as  he  showed  the  way  to  head- 
quarters across  the  lower  end  of  the  reservation  not 
far  from  the  lighthouse.  *  *  Then  the  coons,  the  skunks 
and  the  wildcats  are  out.  And  the  birds !  I  can 't  name 
them  all;  there  are  spoonbills  and  sandpipers,  beach 
snipe  and  English  snipe,  pelicans,  blue  herons  and  fish- 
hawks,  ducks  and  egrets.  There  is  a  heron  rookery 
near  New  Smyrna,  a  second  at  Spruce  Creek,  and  a 
third  at  Port  Orange." 

For  centuries  these  waters  have  been  famous  fish- 
ing grounds,  first  for  those  who  came  before  the  In- 
dians, then  for  the  Indians  themselves,  and  finally  for 
those  who  drove  out  the  Indians.  The  first  white  fisher- 
men to  linger  long  in  the  neighborhood  were  the  fifteen 
hundred  Minorcans  and  Greeks  whom  Doctor  Turnbull 
brought,  about  1766,  to  farm  his  grant  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  Mosquito  Inlet.  The  settlement  founded 
then  he  called  New  Smyrna,  in  honor  of  his  wife's 
Asiatic  birthplace. 

Wonderful  promises  were  made  to  the  immigrants 
from  Greece  and  Italy.  In  return  for  their  work  each 
family  was  to  have,  at  the  end  of  three  years,  fifty  acres 
of  land  and  an  additional  twenty-five  acres  for  each 
child.  In  the  hope  of  winning  this  bit  of  land,  the  col- 
onists toiled  early  and  late,  clearing  land  and  cultivat- 
ing the  sugar-cane  and  raising  indigo.  Hard  task- 
masters were  set  over  them.  Gradually  they  realized 
that  they  were  virtually  in  slavery,  and  they  longed 
for  relief.  In  1776  their  number  had  been  reduced  by 
sickness  and  privation  to  about  six  hundred. 

One  day  a  boy  heard  a  visitor  from  St.  Augustine 
say  that  if  the  poor  people  knew  their  rights  they  would 

132 


RUINS    OF    OLD    SUGAR    MILL,    NEAR    DAYTONA,    FLORIDA 
Dating  from  about  1766 


ON    THE    HALIFAX    RIVER,    NEAR    DAYTONA,    FLORIDA 


ON  FLORIDA'S  HALIFAX  RIVER 

not  submit  to  Doctor  Turnbull.  The  boy  told  his  mother 
the  hopeful  words,  and  as  a  result  a  council  was  called. 
That  night  three  men  were  sent  to  St.  Augustine  to  see 
the  governor.  When  they  returned  they  urged  the 
entire  company  to  go  north  for  refuge.  At  once  a 
strange  cavalcade  was  formed.  The  historian  tells  how 
the  women  and  children,  with  the  old  men,  were  placed 
in  the  center,  while  the  stoutest  men,  armed  with 
wooden  spears,  took  their  places  in  front  and  rear. 
They  had  not  gone  far  when  the  overseer,  having  dis- 
covered their  flight,  pursued  them,  but  was  unable  to 
persuade  them  to  return.  Three  days  later  they  reached 
St.  Augustine,  where  they  made  their  home  under  the 
protection  of  the  English  governor.  It  is  said  that 
many  of  the  present  residents  of  the  city  are  descen- 
dants of  the  abused  Minorcans. 

New  Smyrna  is  at  the  southern  end  of  the  bird 
reservation.  Within  a  few  miles  are  many  reminders 
of  the  days  when  the  Europeans  toiled  for  Doctor  Turn- 
bull.  Just  outside  of  town,  on  Spruce  Creek,  is  the 
foundation  of  the  old  fort,  revealed  in  all  its  outlines 
by  excavations  in  a  shell  mound.  Then  there  are  the 
ruins  of  the  old  church,  indigo  vats,  and  a  number  of 
sugar  mills.  At  one  of  these  mills,  which  has  been 
exposed  to  the  weather  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  the 
rollers,  made  of  some  sort  of  bronze,  are  intact,  un- 
touched by  rust,  and  this  in  a  region  where  any  mod- 
ern metal,  left  without  protection,  soon  corrodes. 

Long  ago  the  jungle  claimed  once  more  the  fertile 
lands  of  Doctor  Turnbull 's  grant,  but  these  are  now 
being  reclaimed,  and  the  day  is  coming  when  all  the 
water  about  Mosquito  Inlet  will  again  be  bordered  by 
smiling  groves  and  fruitful  fields. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 

IN  1885  the  East  Coast  of  Florida  was  little  better 
than  a  wilderness.  In  spots  there  were  orange 
groves,  but  there  were  no  transportation  facilities, 
and  to  many  people  it  seemed  certain  that  in  the  entire 
region  there  never  would  be  railroads  of  consequence. 
Here  and  there  were  scattered  a  few  residents  who 
looked  on  a  journey  a  dozen  miles  from  home  as  an 
event  to  be  remembered.  The  Manufacturer's  Record 
of  Baltimore  says  that  this  vast  region  was  one  of 
the  most  uninviting  development  projects  in  the 
whole  South. 

But  in  1885  Henry  M.  Flagler  went  from  the  North 
to  Jacksonville  and  St.  Augustine.  Very  soon  he  had 
a  vision  of  the  possibilities  of  the  country.  Although 
he  was  then  fifty-five  years  old,  he  deliberately  set  him- 
self the  task  of  developing  the  resources  of  the  entire 
East  Coast.  If  he  had  thought  of  reaping  financial 
rewards  in  his  lifetime,  he  would  not  have  made  his 
plans.  But  fortunately  he  had  ceased  to  think  of  im- 
mediate returns  in  money  from  his  investments.  To  a 
friend  who  thought  he  saw  the  folly  of  the  work 
Mr.  Flagler  said  that  because  Florida  is  the  easiest 
place  for  many  men  to  gain  a  living,  and  because  he  did 
not  believe  anyone  else  would  undertake  the  task,  he 
decided  it  was  a  safe  kind  of  work  for  him  to  do. 

So  he  built  the  Ponce  de  Leon  Hotel  in  St.  Augus- 
tine, at  that  time  the  finest  hotel  in  the  world.  At  first 
it  was  his  wish  to  place  it  on  the  site  of  the  old  fort, 

134 


TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 

but  in  this  he  did  not  succeed.  While  the  hotel  was 
building  he  bought  the  little  narrow-gauge  railroad 
that  ran  from  Jacksonville  to  within  two  miles  of  St. 
Augustine.  Later  he  changed  this  to  a  broad-gauge 
road.  Then  he  built  the  Alcazar  Hotel  and  bought 
the  Cordova. 

Gradually  the  railroad  was  extended  southward, 
and  as  it  advanced  settlers  came  and  began  to  develop 
the  land.  Taking  advantage  of  another  narrow-gauge 
railroad,  bought  and  later  broadened,  it  went  to  Pa- 
latka,  on  the  broad  St.  Johns  River,  near  the  spot  where 
the  United  States  Department  of  Agriculture  had 
bought  three  thousand  acres  of  land,  later  planting  the 
whole  to  camphor  trees  in  long  hedgerows.  This  plan- 
tation is  thriving  so  well  that  hedge-cuttings  are  taken 
from  it  once  or  twice  a  year  that  they  may  be  sent  to  the 
still  to  supply  the  camphor  of  commerce.  Thus  visi- 
tors to  Palatka  may  see  a  plantation  that  is  doing  as 
well  as  are  the  great  camphor  groves  of  China. 

Then  came  an  extension  of  the  road  to  Ormond, 
where  another  great  hotel  had  been  built,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  Ormond  and  Daytona  began.  This  step 
in  the  further  growth  of  a  railroad  system  was  made 
possible  by  the  purchase  of  a  third  narrow-gauge  line. 

There  were  no  more  railroads  to  buy,  but  in  a  year 
or  two  the  decision  was  made  to  go  still  farther  south. 
Engineers  studied  the  country  for  several  hundred 
miles.  In  the  face  of  their  advice  Mr.  Flagler  decided 
that  Lake  Worth  must  be  his  next  point  of  attack ;  they 
said  the  place  had  no  possibilities,  but  their  employer 
thought  differently.  He  bought  the  land  between  the 
lake  and  the  ocean,  built  the  Royal  Poinciana  and  The 
Breakers,  extended  the  road,  and  in  1894  invited  the 

135 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

world  to  come  to  the  resort  where  palatial  provision 
had  been  made  for  them. 

Less  than  a  generation  has  been  sufficient  for  the 
transformation  of  a  dreary  bit  of  marsh  and  scrub 
land,  where  a  few  pine  trees  grew,  into  a  paradise 
where  roads  and  paths  play  hide-and-seek  among  the 
palms,  the  magnolias  and  the  live-oaks ;  where  blooms 
of  a  hundred  varieties  run  riot  and  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  is  borne  by  the  soft  breezes  to  those  who  remain 
at  a  distance  from  the  source  of  elusive  perfumes; 
where  the  earth  below  and  the  sky  above  vie  with  each 
other  to  supply  the  greater  wealth  of  color  and  delight ; 
where  the  long  breakers  from  the  open  ocean  come  into 
the  gently-sloping,  shell-strewn  beach. 

To-day  Palm  Beach  is  society's  chief  Florida  resort. 
For  weeks  carefully-groomed  men  and  daintily-gowned 
women  throng  the  piazzas  and  the  public  rooms  of  the 
Royal  Poinciana  and  The  Breakers;  they  sail  on  the 
blue  Lake  Worth  or  bathe  in  its  quiet  waters,  or  seek 
the  beach  where  waves  are  more  boisterous ;  they  ride 
in  the  interminable  line  of  wheel-chairs,  down  the  Lake 
Drive,  under  the  cocoanut  palms,  or  along  the  Jungle 
Trail;  they  play  golf  or  tennis,  they  hunt,  they  fish, 
they  soak  in  the  sunshine.  And  while  they  are  enjoy- 
ing themselves  at  only  thirty-six  hours '  distance  from 
New  York  City,  the  people  of  the  North,  perhaps,  are 
facing  a  blizzard. 

The  railroad  builder  did  not  rest  on  the  laurels 
won  when  he  completed  his  route  to  Palm  Beach;  his 
interest  in  the  resort  did  not  wane,  for  here  he  built 
his  own  winter  home,  Whitehall,  and  also  a  church  for 
the  tourists,  as  he  had  done  already  at  St.  Augustine, 
and  would  do  later  at  Miami. 

136 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    KOYAL    POINCIANA    HOTEL,    PALM    BEACH,    FLORIDA 
From  "  Winter  Journeys  in  the  South,"  by  courtesy  of  John  Martin  Hammond,  Esq. 


TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 

Miami  was  not  in  existence  when  the  railroad  be- 
gan to  follow  the  route  blazed  out  by  Mr.  Flagler  when 
he  went  by  wagon  through  lands  that  looked  most  un- 
promising to  Bay  Biscayne  and  the  Miami  Eiver.  In 
1896  trains  were  running  to  Miami,  and  the  Eoyal 
Palm  Hotel  was  completed. 

Surely  this  would  be  the  southern  limit  of  progress, 
most  people  thought.  What  was  there  below?  But 
the  man  who  had  a  vision  of  great  things  for  Eastern 
Florida  learned  of  the  fertile  lands  to  the  south  of 
Miami,  and  pushed  the  road  twenty-eight  miles  to 
Homestead,  nearly  400  miles  from  Jacksonville — far- 
ther south  than  the  northern  boundary  of  Mexico. 

Then  came  the  climax  of  the  Flagler  dream:  Key 
West,  the  last  of  the  strange  procession  of  Keys  that 
sweep  in  an  arc  about  the  tip  of  Florida,  was  beckon- 
ing to  him.  This  was  the  gateway  to  Havana ;  this  was 
the  nearest  point  in  the  United  States  to  the  Panama 
Canal ;  this  was  the  key  to  the  trade  of  South  America. 
What  if  it  did  seem  absurd  to  lay  the  rails  from  keys 
of  limestone  to  coral  islands,  defying  the  currents  from 
the  Gulf  to  the  Atlantic  that,  ages  ago,  cut  into  isolated 
sections  the  last  bit  of  the  land  that  separated  the 
waters  on  the  east  from  those  on  the  west? 

One  day  he  called  a  friend  into  his  office  and  showed 
him  a  map  of  Florida  with  a  red  line  drawn  through  the 
keys  down  to  Key  West.  *  *  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? '  * 
he  asked.  "It  looks  like  a  very  fair  map  of  Florida, " 
was  the  reply;  "what  is  there  unique  about  it?"  "Do 
you  notice  that  red  line  ? ' '  the  magnate  asked.  ' '  That 
is  a  railroad  I  am  going  to  build. "  "A  railroad  in  that 
God-forsaken  section?"  came  the  astonished  exclama- 
tion; "you  need  a  guardian!" 

137 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

"Flagler's  Folly"  was  the  name  popularly  given  to 
the  projected  route  over  the  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  miles  from  Homestead  to  Key  West.  But  Mr. 
Flagler  did  not  worry  as  to  what  others  thought  of  his 
project.  "Are  you  sure  the  railway  can  be  built?"  he 
asked  his  general  manager.  "I  am  sure"  was  the 
answer.  "Very  well,  go  ahead,"  the  capitalist  said. 

April,  1903,  saw  the  beginning  of  construction  be- 
low Homestead.  The  jump  from  the  mainland  was 
made  at  Everglade  Station,  where  Manatee  Creek 
enters  the  ocean.  The  engineers  had  to  solve  prob- 
lems that  had  never  even  been  studied  before.  Float- 
ing camps  were  built  and  stem-wheel  steamers  from 
the  Mississippi  Eiver  were  brought  to  carry  supplies. 
Fresh  water  was  transported  from  the  mainland,  and 
concrete  was  brought  by  the  shipload.  Dredges  were 
required  to  remove  the  sand  from  the  rock  bottom,  in 
preparation  for  the  cofferdams  that  preceded  the 
piers.  Further  use  for  these  dredges  was  found  when, 
after  Knight's  Key  was  passed,  the  coraline  rock  dis- 
appeared and  its  place  was  taken  by  a  kind  of  lime- 
stone that  was  fit  for  use  in  concrete.  The  rock, 
after  being  blasted  in  shallow  water,  was  loaded  by 
the  dredges. 

Piles  had  to  be  driven  through  the  limestone,  but 
the  top  was  so  hard  that  holes  first  had  to  be  punched 
to  a  depth  of  from  three  to  five  feet. 

Mile  after  mile  the  creeping  railroad  advanced  over 
the  keys,  leaping  the  channels  from  island  to  island  by 
means  of  slender  but  substantial  bridges  that  broke 
all  records  for  length.  Difficulties  innumerable  were 
encountered,  but  all  were  conquered.  Hurricanes  beat 
against  the  embankments  and  tried  to  overthrow  the 

138 


TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 

piers.  In  1906  the  boats  in  which  the  workmen  had 
taken  refuge  were  blown  out  to  sea,  and  more  than 
seventy  men  were  lost.  Others  were  picked  up  by  pass- 
ing steamers  after  many  days  of  exposure  and  suffer- 
ing. A  study  of  the  damage  done  led  to  such  changes 
in  the  work  that  in  1909,  when  the  wind  reached  a  veloc- 
ity of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  an  hour,  there 
were  practically  no  bad  results. 

At  last  the  work  was  crowned  with  success  in  1912, 
and  through  travel  became  possible  from  New  York 
to  Key  West.  The  railroad's  historian  has  told  the 
travelerwhat  to  expect  as  he  makes  the  last  long  plunge : 

1 1  Crossing  by  Lake  Surprise,  over  Jewfish,  the  line 
emerges  on  Key  Largo,  the  name  indicating  the  largest 
key  in  the  series.  Largo  has  been  inhabited  and  culti- 
vated for  years.  Crossing  the  famous  Tavernier  Pass, 
where  many  a  pirate  found  refuge  from  a  threatening 
enemy,  Plantation  Key  and  the  two  Matecumbes  are 
quickly  covered,  and  off  to  the  eastward  one  sights  In- 
dian Key,  a  giant  emerald  set  in  a  gleaming  opal  sea. 
Lower  Matecumbe  is  joined  to  the  now  well-known 
Long  Key.  Here,  amidst  countless  cocoanut  trees, 
Long  Key  Camp,  where  fish  abound  and  the  climate 
is  always  perfect,  offers  a  winter  home  for  those  who 
love  an  ever-changing  but  ever-charming  sea.  Here, 
too,  Long  Key  is  linked  to  Grassy  Key  by  the  mar- 
velous Long  Key  Viaduct,  two  and  a  quarter  miles  in 
length.  South  of  Grassy,  Fat  Deer  and  Key  Vaca  come 
in  quick  succession  as  stepping-stones  to  Knights  Key 
Dock.  It  is  'oversea*  indeed  that  the  series  of  via- 
ducts leap  going  south,  beginning  with  Knights  Key 
Bridge.  For  a  distance  of  approximately  twenty  miles 
from  Vaca  to  West  Summerland,  a  succession  of  deep 

139 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

and  varying  *  passes'  lead  from  the  Gulf  into  the  At- 
lantic. These  are  Knights  Key  Channel,  Moser  Chan- 
nel, Facet  and  Bahia  Honda  Channels.  Some  of  these 
are  spanned  by  piers  and  steel  and  some  by  concrete 
arches.  Giant  piers  of  concrete  breast  and  defy  tide 
and  current,  wind  and  storm.  From  pier  to  pier  stretch 
mighty  lacings  of  steel  to  carry  the  traffic  of  men  and 
things  to  the  southward.  To  the  westward  lies  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  clear  to  the  setting  sun ;  to  the  eastward 
rolls  the  broad  ocean  that  tempted  Columbus,  where 
one  must  sail  and  sail  and  never  cry  '  Land  Ho ! '  until 
he  sights  Cape  Blanco  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  it  is 
nearly  five  thousand  miles,  straight  to  the  east,  from 
the  desert  sea  of  the  South  bridged  by  man's  inventive- 
ness to  the  heart  of  the  Desert  of  Sahara." 

Thence  to  Key  West,  the  Queen  of  the  Keys,  by  way 
of  five  smaller  keys,  Summerland,  Big  Pine,  Cudjoe, 
Big  Coppitt  and  Boca  Chica.  There,  at  its  terminal, 
on  land  reclaimed  from  the  sea,  the  railroad  delivers 
its  passengers  direct  to  the  Havana  ferry. 

"The  most  unique  railway  in  the  world,"  this  has 
been  called.  ' '  This  road,  probably  more  than  any  other 
road  in  the  United  States,  broadens  out  into  inter- 
national importance,"  the  Manufacturer's  Record  said, 
and  added,  "No  other  railroad  of  modern  times  has 
received  such  universal  attention  and  wide  publi city. ' ' 

There  are  seventeen  miles  of  permanent  bridge 
work,  the  longest  bridge  being  between  Knights  Key 
and  Little  Duck  Key.  This,  with  approaches,  is  over 
seven  miles  long.  Long  Key  Viaduct,  of  reinforced 
concrete  arches,  is  one  of  the  remarkable  features  of 
the  work.  Sometimes  the  water  crossed  is  but  a  few 
inches  in  depth,  but  at  Bahia  Honda  Harbor  the  foun- 

140 


OVERSEAS    TO    KEY    WEST,    FLORIDA 


A    KEY    WEST    RESIDENCE    DISTRICT 


TO  PALM  BEACH  AND  BEYOND 

dations  of  some  of  the  piers  are  thirty  feet  below 
tide  level. 

Key  West — a  city  half  American,  half  Spanish — is 
a  worthy  terminus  for  this  engineering  triumph,  for 
the  city  on  the  last  of  the  keys  has  had  a  history  of 
obstacle-overcoming  almost  ever  since  1815,  when  it 
was  given  by  the  governor  of  Florida  to  one  who  had 
done  the  colony  service.  Six  years  later  it  was  sold  for 
two  thousand  dollars.  In  1822  a  United  States  sloop- 
of-war  raised  the  flag  there ;  then  the  place  was  called 
Thompson's  Island.  At  the  same  time  the  harbor  was 
named  Port  Eodgers.  Within  two  years  marines  were 
stationed  on  the  island,  the  forerunners  of  the  naval 
station  and  army  post  of  to-day.  Development  has 
been  slow  but  continuous.  There  were  two  thou- 
sand people  in  the  town  when  there  were  but 
fifty  on  the  entire  mainland  below  the  northern  end  of 
the  Everglades. 

Key  West,  with  its  deep-water  harbor,  has  an 
appeal  for  tourists  that  many  heed.  The  lowest  tem- 
perature ever  known  there  was  41  degrees,  while  in 
twenty-five  years  the  highest  temperature  was  93  de- 
grees. The  island  is  small,  but  near  at  hand  are  fishing 
grounds  that  completely  satisfy,  where  several  hun- 
dred varieties  of  edible  fish  can  be  taken ;  sixteen  miles 
away  there  is  a  sponge  farm,  and  there  is  bathing  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  Gulf  Stream. 

From  Key  West  there  is  a  delightful  trip  across  the 
Florida  Straits,  to  frowning  Morro  Castle,  which 
guards  the  way  to  Havana,  the  chief  city  of  the  "Pearl 
of  the  Antilles."  The  trip  from  New  York  City  with- 
out a  break  takes  but  fifty-five  hours ! 


CHAPTER  XV 


TWENTY-FIVE  years  ago  Miami  was  only  a 
name  on  the  map,  a  spot  on  the  edge  of  the 
wilderness,  where   tangled,   subtropical  vege- 
tation seemed  to  warn  rather  than  invite  investigators. 
Only  the  gayly  garbed  Seminoles,  a  few  squatters,  and 
some  families  who  did  not  worry  because  they  were  so 
far  from  the  haunts  of  business  life,  knew  their  way 
about  the  borders  of  Biscayne  Bay  and  the  banks  of 
the  Miami  Eiver. 

But  the  time  came  when  men  of  vision  saw  the  pos- 
sibilities of  the  unusual  setting — the  broad,  still  waters 
of  blue  Biscayne  Bay,  separated  from  the  open  ocean 
by  a  narrow  passage  of  sand  and  rock  where  palms  and 
shrubs  had  been  monarchs  for  centuries ;  Miami  River, 
leading  off  toward  the  Everglades,  its  mangrove- 
studded  banks  a  favorite  haunt  for  the  alligator;  be- 
tween bay  and  river  and  beyond  the  river  land — or 
rather  rocks,  for  it  is  necessary  to  make  soil  by  pulver- 
izing the  rocks — that  could  work  wonders ;  and  climate ! 
Think  of  an  annual  mean  temperature  of  75.4  degrees, 
the  average  summer  temperature  being  81.4  degrees, 
while  the  average  of  the  winter  months  is  69  degrees ! 
Faith  in  the  possibilities  was  so  great  that  the  rail- 
road came.  And  the  people  followed — most  of  them 
from  the  North  and  from  the  West.  Soon  there  was  a 
village ;  then  there  was  a  town ;  then  there  was  a  city ; 
and  soon  there  will  be  fifty  thousand,  one  hundred 

142 


a  5; 
a 


1 


. 


MIAMI,   THE   MAGIC   CITY 

thousand  inhabitants  in  this  marvellous  place  where 
climate  and  scenery  vie  with  industry  to  make  what 
will  be  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the  South. 

One  who  sees  Miami  for  the  first  time  is  astonished 
at  the  streets,  the  business  buildings,  the  schools,  the 
churches,  the  private  residences,  in  their  setting  of 
trees  and  flowers.  But  the  visitor  soon  ceases  to  be 
surprised,  even  when  he  is  told  that  central  business 
property  brings  three  thousand  dollars  a  front  foot, 
and  that  residence  property  changes  hands  at  figures 
that,  in  a  northern  city  of  corresponding  size,  would 
seem  unreasonable. 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  growth  of  Miami 
has  been  so  rapid.  The  author  could  not  realize  the 
truth  until  he  met  a  citizen  who  was  one  of  the  first  to 
seek  the  shore  of  Biscayne  Bay.  He  talked  of  Miami 
in  embryo  and  this  is  what  he  said : 

" Twenty-odd  years  ago!  Everything  in  the  raw 
and  mostly  very  dull.  Sand,  white  rock,  vegetation 
shaggy,  coarse  and  sparse;  stunted  pines;  shacks; 
people  few  and  dispirited — with  a  few  bright  excep- 
tions— and  the  fierce  glare  of  a  tropical  sun  over  all. 
A  few  had  vision  and  prophesied  a  real  future — a  town 
of  maybe  five  thousand  people  some  happy  day,  con- 
fessedly distant.  To  the  majority  this  seemed  wildly 
visionary.  There  had  been  orange  growers  ruined  by 
the  terrible  freezes  of  1894-1895  which  devastated  cen- 
tral Florida.  Lured  by  offers  of  work  at  $1.25  a  day, 
dispensed  by  the  multimillionaire  Standard  Oil  mag- 
nate, Henry  M.  Flagler,  who  was  so  foolish  as  to  push 
his  railway  sixty-six  miles  south  over  the  coast-wise 
descent  from  Palm  Beach  and  to  open  a  terminal  in  the 
shallow  Biscayne  Bay  at  the  mouth  of  the  four-mile- 

143 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

long  Miami  Eiver,  they  had  brought  hither  their  empty 
pockets,  shabby  clothes,  load  of  debts,  and  a  feeble 
cargo  of  sodden  pessimism  concerning  everything  in 
Florida.  Of  the  eight  hundred  whites  on  the  ground,  at 
least  three-fourths  were  thus  smothered  in  blackness. 
"Three  Protestant  churches  alternated  in  using  a 
structure  costing  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars, 
half  tent,  seating  eighty  people,  whose  flaps  were  open 
day  and  night,  whose  benches  were  often  used  by  men 
too  poor  to  pay  for  other  lodgings,  and  whose  tables 
were  kept  supplied  with  reading  matter  and  writing 
materials.  This  was  the  center  of  the  town's  social 
life.  Mr.  L ,  dead  broke,  was  financed  by  an  up- 
state uncle  with  five  thousand  dollars  to  open  a  small 
grocery;  he  is  now  a  bank  president  and  wealthy. 

R came  two  years  later  without  a  cent  to  serve  as 

bank  clerk  at,  say,  twenty  dollars  a  week ;  three  years 
later  he  founded  a  new  bank,  of  which  he  is  president, 
with  deposits  now  of  four  million  dollars.  Big  John 

S was  bossing  a  gang  of  Negroes  who  were  paving 

Twelfth  Street  roughly  with  crushed  white  rock — 
our  first  glimpse  of  deliverance  from  sandy  and  rocky 
roadbeds ;  he  is  now  a  wealthy  merchant,  and  resides  in 
a  mansion  reputed  to  have  cost  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Bank  deposits  then  totaled  possibly  fifty 
thousand  dollars;  to-day  the  city's  six  banks  report 
fourteen  millions.  Our  first  high  school  class  was 
formed  in  1900  with  four  pupils ;  to-day  the  high  school 
enrolls  four  hundred.  Where,  in  January,  1896,  there 
were  less  than  one  hundred  people  in  what  is  now 
Miami,  with  possibly  twelve  hundred  two  years  later, 
there  is  to-day  a  permanent  and  prosperous  population 
of  perhaps  thirty-five  thousand,  with  skyscrapers,  some 

144 


MIAMI,   THE   MAGIC   CITY 

two  hundred  miles  of  unsurpassed  asphalted  streets 
and  tributary  roads,  a  building  record  for  a  single  year 
of  more  than  three  million  dollars  aside  from  the  mil- 
lion or  more  at  Miami  Beach,  across  the  bay,  and  ac- 
commodation for  many  thousands  of  winter  visitors — 
but  not  enough  to  go  round." 

One  of  Miami 'a  chief  attractions  to  the  tourist  is  that 
it  is  possible  to  stay  there  weeks  and  even  months  with- 
out weariness,  because  there  are  so  many  things  to  do. 
He  can  stroll  under  the  trees  of  the  cocoanut  grove  near 
the  Royal  Palm  Hotel,  looking  out  on  the  harbor  and 
through  the  cut  made  by  the  Government  to  the  open 
Atlantic.  That  view  is  restful  by  day,  but  at  night, 
when  the  moonlight  falls  on  the  water,  it  is  a  scene 
to  be  remembered  always.  A  short  walk  will  take  him 
to  the  Point  View  residence  district,  where  the  palm- 
embowered  houses  cluster  along  the  crescent-shaped 
shore  of  Biscayne  Bay.  From  here  the  road  leads  on 
to  Cocoanut  Grove,  five  miles  away — five  miles  of 
riotous  beauty.  A  long  section  of  the  road  is  a  duplex 
drive,  with  palms  on  both  sides  and  a  double  row  of 
palms  in  the  center.  Near  by  is  the  country  home  of 
William  Jennings  Bryan,  and  about  half-way  to  Cocoa- 
nut  Grove  appear  the  walls  of  James  Deering's  estate, 
walls  almost  hidden  by  festoons  of  bloom,  both  poinset- 
tia  and  bougainvillea — the  latter  flowers  frequently 
eighteen  inches  in  diameter.  Within  the  walls  is  fairy- 
land— circling  drives  among  the  trees;  the  mangrove 
swamp,  whose  curious  twisted  roots,  reaching  far  above 
the  surface  of  the  water  before  the  trunks  begin  to 
grow,  seem  like  a  weird  reminder  of  a  bad  dream; 
the  island  in  the  bay,  in  front  of  the  mansion  and  close 
to  the  boathouse,  from  which  motor-boats  begin  cruises 

10  145 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

of  days  or  weeks  in  the  enchanted  waters  to  the  south ; 
across  the  road  the  plantation,  with  orchid  house  and 
hedges  of  the  curious  aralia. 

Close  to  Cocoanut  Grove  is  a  picturesque  church 
that  looks  like  a  bit  of  old  Mexico ;  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  architect  who  made  the  plans  had  nothing  but  the 
photograph  of  a  church  in  the  City  of  Mexico  to  guide 
him  as  to  his  patrons'  wishes.  And  a  little  beyond  is 
the  home  of  Kirk  Munroe,  the  novelist,  who  built  his 
house  beside  Biscayne's  waters  before  Miami  made 
its  beginning.  Down  among  the  palms,  between  the 
house  and  the  bay,  is  the  great  spring  which  makes  a 
pool,  rock-girded,  famous  since  the  days  of  the  Indians 
and  the  pioneer  fishermen.  During  the  Spanish- Ameri- 
can War  water  was  piped  from  this  basin  to  vessels 
whose  coming  was  eagerly  awaited  by  sailors  of  the 
fleet  who,  but  for  this  supply,  would  have  had  nothing 
but  condensed  sea-water  to  drink. 

The  invitation  of  Cocoanut  Grove  is  emphasized  by 
three  highways  from  Miami,  each  one  quite  different, 
and  all  worth  using  times  without  number.  But  too 
many  other  drives  are  available  to  allow  even  Cocoanut 
Grove  to  monopolize  attention.  Across  the  bay  by  a 
concrete  bridge  more  than  two  miles  long  lies  Miami 
Beach  on  that  fringe  of  sand  and  rock  between  bay  and 
ocean,  once  an  uninviting  tangle,  now  an  enchanted 
garden  that  stretches  away  to  the  north  for  miles. 
There  a  separate  community  has  been  built  up,  with 
residences  whose  gardens  are  like  parks,  hotels  where 
wise  tourists  are  learning  to  go,  bathing  establishments 
which  are  gateways  to  a  beach  that  is  remarkable  even 
for  the  East  Coast  of  Florida.  Think  of  bathing  within 
three  miles  of  the  Gulf  Stream!  There  is  an  eighteen- 

146 


AT   COCOANUT    GROVE,    FLORIDA 


ARCH    SPRINO    NATURAL    BRIDGE,    NEAR    MIAMI,    FLORIDA 
On  Dixie  Highway 


MIAMI,  THE   MAGIC  CITY 

hole  golf  links — in  twin  nines — that  boasts  all-grass 
green,  ties  and  fairways.  A  canal,  hidden  in  the  rich 
foliage,  bisects  the  course;  on  this  the  club-house  rests 
amid  palms  and  oleanders.  And  there  is  a  polo  field 
that  is  said  to  be  the  best-equipped  in  the  South. 

The  drive  by  the  ocean  continues  close  to  the  water, 
with  bowing  trees  on  either  hand,  sometimes  within  a 
short  distance  also  of  one  of  the  inland  waterways. 
Fourteen  miles  of  poetry  under  the  blue  sky  and  by  the 
blue  sea.  Then  a  cross-road  to  Fulford,  on  the  Dixie 
Highway,  whose  smooth  surface  brings  thousands  of 
motorists  from  Jacksonville  to  Miami.  At  length  back 
to  Miami  by  way  of  Arch  Creek,  crossed  by  the  road 
on  a  natural  arch  of  coral  rock  almost  hidden  by  the 
live-oaks,  whose  branches  are  interlaced  above  the 
dark  stream. 

And  this  is  but  the  beginning  of  the  rich  offerings 
of  the  Magic  City.  Is  it  strange  that  visitors  who  one 
year  seek  Miami  for  a  week  or  two,  go  back  next  year 
for  a  month,  extend  the  time  the  third  year  to  two 
months,  and  finally  yield  to  the  temptation  to  linger 
from  October  to  April  or  May? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  THE  FLORIDA  EVERGLADES 

EXACTLY  as  there  was  talk  until  long  past  the 
middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  settling  the  Great  American  Desert, 
so,  until  within  a  few  years,  most  people  agreed  that 
the  vast  Everglades  of  Florida  were  worthless.  * '  Poor 
Florida!"  was  the  thought.  "Her  coast  is  all  right; 
but  think  of  the  vast  interior — swampy,  useless,  a  men- 
ace rather  than  an  asset!" 

But  gradually  word  has  got  about  that  Florida  is 
to  be  envied  because  of  these  very  Everglades.  For 
there  are  not  only  beauty  spots  for  those  who  have 
thoughts  beyond  utility,  but  also  homes  for  millions 
of  pioneers  who  seek  the  rich  muck  lands  to  the  south 
of  the  Okeechobee. 

Time  was  when  it  was  a  daring  achievement,  a  nine 
days '  wonder,  to  venture  into  the  Everglades.  Yet  the 
venture  was  made  by  many  who  reported  that  there 
was  no  swamp,  but  only  a  succession  of  open  water- 
courses, islands,  hammocks.  Trees  and  saw-grass  grew 
luxuriantly.  Evidently,  they  said,  the  soil,  if  drained, 
would  be  marvelously  productive. 

The  words  of  those  who  were  bold  enough  to  make 
the  first  suggestion  that  everything  needed  was  a  series 
of  canals  to  carry  off  the  surplus  water  from  Okee- 
chobee, instead  of  permitting  the  lake  to  overflow  for 
three  months  every  year,  were  received  with  unbelief. 
There  is  record  of  a  cautious  proposal  of  the  sort  in 
1848,  when  a  Government  document  advocated  the 

148 


ROAD  BUILDING  ACROSS  THE  EVERGLADES 


DRAINAGE  CANALS  IN  THE  EVERGLADES 


IN  THE  FLORIDA  EVERGLADES 

granting  of  the  region  to  Florida,  that  the  canals 
might  be  dug  and  the  land  surveyed.  No  promise  was 
made  that  the  lands  would  be  productive;  it  was 
thought  enough  to  say  that  until  the  canals  were  dug 
it  would  be  impossible  to  tell  if  the  land  was  worth 
anything  or  not. 

Some  said  canals  were  impossible.  "But  the  lake 
is  more  than  twenty  feet  above  sea  level,"  was  the 
reply,  "and  the  water  will  have  a  downhill  run  all  the 
way  to  the  coast." 

Even  a  few  years  ago  an  editor  of  a  Miami  daily 
paper,  who  had  lived  in  the  region  for  many  years, 
scoffed  at  the  notion  of  making  anything  of  the  region 
below  Okeechobee.  But  in  1920  he  said  to  the  author : 
"I  had  to  give  in  at  last,  and  my  surrender  has  been 
complete.  Not  only  can  the  work  be  done,  but  it  is 
being  done.  Not  only  is  there  a  possibility  that  the 
reclaimed  lands  can  produce  crops,  but  some  of  them 
are  producing,  and  with  marvellous  abundance." 

The  drainage  system  consists  of  five  canals,  four 
to  the  Atlantic,  and  one  to  the  Caloosahatchee  River  at 
Fort  Myers,  and  so  to  the  Gulf.  These  have  been  dug 
through  muck  from  two  feet  to  eight  feet  or  more  deep. 

An  excursion  up  one  of  these  canals  to  Okeechobee 
is  like  no  other  journey  on  earth,  and  many  tourists 
have  learned  the  joy  of  it.  From  Miami,  from  Fort 
Lauderdale,  from  West  Palm  Beach,  from  Fort  Myers, 
the  start  can  be  made.  A  sixth  canal,  to  the  St.  Lucie 
River,  will  give  access  to  the  Indian  River,  and  so  to  the 
Atlantic  Ocean.  This  canal,  two  hundred  feet  wide 
and  twelve  feet  deep,  will  make  easy  the  passage  of 
boats  of  good  size  clear  to  Lake  Okeechobee.  In  this 
way  house-boats  and  launches  can  pass  from  the  Inside 

149 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Waterway  to  the  lake,  and  out  by  way  of  a  canal  that 
enters  the  Miami  Eiver  and  through  it  to  Biscayne 
Bay,  passing  on  the  way  reclaimed  land,  already  cul- 
tivated, as  well  as  acres  awaiting  improvement,  wild 
bits  of  hammock,  and  Seminole  Indians  in  their  garish 
garments,  who  are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  are 
in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  Everglades.  There  are 
only  a  few  hundred  of  them,  but  one  who  follows  a 
canal  for  some  distance  or  one  of  the  roads  that  have 
been  built  into  the  reclaimed  district  will  surely  see 
one  or  more  groups  of  men,  women  and  children,  either 
in  their  rude  houses,  trudging  along  the  road,  or  pad- 
dling their  primitive  dugouts  on  one  of  the  canals  or 
water  lanes. 

The  country  finds  it  difficult  to  believe  all  that  is 
told  of  the  possibilities  of  the  land  where  the  Seminoles 
have  made  their  last  stand.  Trees  grow  to  great  size 
in  a  time  so  short  that  Jack's  beanstalk  will  have  to 
be  looking  to  its  laurels.  Peanuts  thrive,  cattle  grow 
sleek  on  a  small  area  of  pasture,  tropical  fruits  are  at 
their  best,  corn  matures  as  well  as  on  the  prairies  of 
Illinois  or  Iowa,  and  sugar-cane  does  so  well  that  there 
are  projects  for  tremendous  plantations.  Of  course,  it 
is  not  strange  that  wonders  can  be  wrought,  for  there 
is  soil  and  there  is  sun.  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
growing  days  in  the  year ! 

And  the  best  of  it  is  that  just  now  the  tourist  has 
the  opportunity  to  see  this  new  country  in  the  transi- 
tion stage.  In  making  plans  for  a  stay  in  Florida  it 
will  pay  to  give  a  few  days  or  even  a  week  or  two  to  a 
tour  of  the  country  where  canals,  railroads  and  high- 
ways make  possible  what,  only  a  few  years  ago,  was 
thought  of  as  a  foolhardy  venture. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
WITH  ROD  AND  GUN  IN  FLORIDA  WATERS 

FLORIDA  fish  stories  date  back  to  1774,  when 
William  Bartram  told  of  seeing  in  the  St.  Johns 
River  a  solid  mass  of  fish  stretching  from  shore 
to  shore  for  perhaps  a  mile  above  and  below  him. 
Then,  to  his  surprise,  he  noted,  in  a  narrow  pass,  alli- 
gators in  incredible  numbers,  waiting  to  devour  the 
fish.  He  says  they  were  so  close  together  from  shore 
to  shore  that  it  would  have  been  possible  to  have 
walked  across  on  their  heads  had  they  been  harmless. 

The  botanist  was  just  as  good  at  a  game  story,  for 
he  said  that  when  he  was  ascending  the  i  l  South  Mus- 
quitoe"  River  in  a  canoe  he  saw  numbers  of  deer  and 
bears  near  the  banks,  and  on  the  islands  of  the  river 
he  saw  eleven  bears  in  a  single  day. 

However,  there  is  no  need  either  to  question  Bar- 
tram's  veracity,  or  to  wish  for  transportation  to  his 
time.  For  to-day  Florida  is  full  of  game,  and  its 
waters,  both  inland  and  seaward,  are  teeming  with 
fish — some  six  hundred  varieties  of  them  from  the 
mullet  to  the  bass  and  the  pompano  to  the  tarpon. 

" Where  is  the  choice  place  for  sport?"  a  passenger 
on  an  East  Coast  train,  whose  rod  and  gun  told  of  his 
destination,  was  asked. 

* '  Almost  anywhere, ' '  was  the  reply.  ' ' I  can 't  do  any 
better  than  repeat  the  hackneyed  words  ninety-nine 
men  out  of  every  hundred  use  after  telling  how  to  reach 

151 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

a  given  spot.  'You  can't  miss  it,'  they  say.  And  you 
could  hardly  miss  game  and  fish  in  Florida — no  matter 
how  hard  you  try. 

"Once  I  went  down  to  Stuart,  near  Jupiter  Inlet, 
where  Grover  Cleveland  used  to  fish.  The  bank  is 
about  two  miles  out  in  the  open  sea.  One  day  four  of 
us,  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  caught  one-third  of 
a  sugar-barrel  of  sheepshead,  parrot  fish  and  other 
varieties.  Closer  to  shore  we  caught  sea  bass  that 
weighed  as  much  as  thirty  pounds. 

'  *  Then  in  the  inlets  from  the  sea,  on  the  way  from 
St.  Augustine  to  Miami,  there  is  the  best  of  fishing. 
You'll  get  bluefish,  trout,  Spanish  mackerel,  kingfish, 
pompano — all  salt-water  fish.  In  the  interior  fresh 
fish  are  just  as  plentiful. 

"And  game!  I  am  now  on  my  way  down  to  Fort 
Pierce.  From  there  I  go  into  the  Everglades  for  two 
weeks'  sport.  There  will  be  otter,  coon  and  mink,  to 
say  nothing  of  deer,  turkey  and  quail,  and  possibly  a 
small  black  bear  or  two.  In  two  weeks  I  ought  to  get 
three  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  fur,  besides  all  the 
fun.  There  won't  be  any  danger  except,  perhaps,  from 
the  alligators  and  the  wild  hogs.  The  hogs  are  not  apt 
to  attack  a  man  unless  they  are  wounded  or  angered. 
See  that  scar  on  my  arm?  That  came  from  the  tusks 
of  a  wild  hog  that  stuck  out  of  his  mouth  four  inches. 
I  was  trying  to  defend  my  dogs  from  him  when  he  bit 
me.  The  chief  difficulty  with  alligators  comes  at  night, 
when  no  island  can  be  found  on  which  to  pitch  camp. 
Often  it  is  necessary  to  spend  the  night  in  my  light- 
draft  boat.  Then  the  'gators  may  be  bold  enough 
to  make  an  attack ;  you  see,  there  can  be  no  fire.  There 
isn't  any  danger  from  the  Seminoles.  Some  people 

152 


• 


••"—_.  ._«.,...•.,„,„,,••;.•»* 
ON    MIAMI    RIVER 


THKIK    DAY  8    CATCH 


WITH  ROD  AND  GUN  IN  FLORIDA  WATERS 

say  these  Indians  are  mean.  It  is  a  mistake.  They  are 
both  friendly  and  honest." 

The  greatest  sport  in  Florida  waters  is  tarpon 
fishing,  and  one  of  the  best  places  to  begin  a  cruise  after 
this  game  fish  is  Fort  Myers,  on  the  Caloosahatchee. 
After  floating  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  past  the 
mangroves  and  palmettoes,  and  among  the  water  hya- 
cinths, the  tarpon  grounds  are  reached  at  Boca  Grande, 
where  a  three-mile  pass  gives  abundant  opportunity  to 
take  the  fish  that  weigh  from  fifty  to  two  hundred 
pounds  and  are  from  four  to  six  feet  long.  And  what 
sport  a  fish  like  that  affords  before  he  is  landed ! 

Miami  is  a  great  center  for  the  fisherman  who  has 
his  choice  of  water  near  by,  among  the  keys  toward 
Key  West,  or  out  toward  the  nearest  of  the  Bahamas, 
forty-five  miles  from  the  coast,  where  the  Bimini  Bay 
Rod  and  Gun  Club  has  spent  a  million  dollars  in  equip- 
ping a  resort  to  which  passengers  are  taken  either  by 
yacht  or  by  flying-boat. 

The  Miami  Anglers'  Club  has  opened  the  way  for 
hundreds  of  sportsmen  to  go  after  fish  in  both  fresh 
and  salt  water.  Even  the  reading  of  the  rules  and 
regulations  of  the  club  makes  the  blood  tingle.  They 
tell  of  fish  that  may  be  taken  by  light  tackle — tarpon, 
sailfish,  tuna,  amberjack,  barracuda,  kingfish,  dolphin, 
bonita,  bonefish  and  black  bass.  The  club  also  approves 
of  the  taking  of  tarpon,  sailfish,  amberjack,  barracuda, 
kingfish  and  grouper  with  heavy  tackle. 

Restrictions  on  tackle  are  stated:  "Rods  to  be  of 
wood  and  consisting  of  butt  and  tip — tip  length  to  be 
measured  from  the  end  of  tip  to  the  point  of  assem- 
blage. Lines  of  standard  linen  of  number  fifty  yarn. 
Rods  and  lines  classified  as :  (a)  Heavy  tackle :  Tip  not 

153 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

over  sixteen  ounces  in  weight  nor  under  five  feet  in 
length.  Butt  not  over  twenty-two  inches  in  length. 
Line  not  over  twenty-one  strand,  (b)  Light  tackle: 
Tip  to  be  not  over  six  ounces  in  weight,  nor  under  five 
feet  in  length.  Butt  to  be  not  over  eighteen  inches  in 
length.  Line  to  be  not  over  nine  strand." 

Among  the  prizes  offered  by  the  club  is  one  for  the 
largest  turtle  pegged.  The  turtles  of  the  Florida  Keys 
are  unusual ;  several  men  are  needed  to  turn  one  on  his 
back.  It  is  stated  that  no  turtle  can  be  pegged  when 
feeding  on  Portuguese  men-of-war,  the  strange  marine 
creatures  described  by  one  fisherman  as  consisting  of 
"a  Zeppelin-shaped,  transparent  balloon,  about  half 
full  of  green  liquid.  This  contains  picric  acid,  and,  on 
contact  with  the  human  body,  tends  to  paralyze,  some- 
times for  a  considerable  period.  The  balloon  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  sail,  which,  when  spread,  wafts  the  man- 
of-war  over  the  water.  The  sail  is  of  many  and  bril- 
liant hues,  and  a  fleet  is  very  picturesque.  On  its  lower 
side  the  man-of-war  has  tentacles,  which  can  be  let 
down  as  much  as  thirty  feet. ' ' 

Not  far  from  the  Bimini  Bay  Club  House  is  the 
Co-co-lo-bo  Cay  Club.  One  of  the  members  of  this  club 
has  told  of  a  cruise  when  the  principal  catch  was  barra- 
cuda, though  he  did  catch  a  sixty-two  pound  amber- 
jack,  after  a  forty  minutes'  fight.  On  another  trip  to 
the  south  of  Miami  a  companion  secured  a  big  straw- 
berry grouper  or  seabass.  The  grouper  was  attended 
by  a  school  which,  when  perhaps  fifty  or  sixty  feet  from 
the  boat,  suddenly  jumped  out  of  the  water,  "fairly 
tumbling  over  each  other  to  escape  a  huge  sailfish, 
whose  waving  fin  appeared  just  behind  them.  The 
strain  on  the  line  eased  off,  and  the  grouper  remained 

154 


WITH  ROD  AND  GUN  IN  FLORIDA  WATERS 

on  the  hook — but  only  his  head,  the  remainder  having 
furnished  an  impromptu  meal  for  the  sailfish,  which 
must  have  weighed  two  hundred  pounds." 

The  champion  fisherman  of  Florida  is  Captain 
Charles  Thompson.  He  was  cruising  for  tarpon  off 
Knight's  Key  when  he  saw  what  looked  like  a  whale. 
From  a  pursuing  boat  he  threw  a  harpoon  into  the 
mysterious  fish.  Later  four  more  harpoons  were  shot 
into  it.  ' '  For  thirty-nine  hours — two  days  and  a  night 
— that  fierce  fish  pulled  the  lifeboat  through  the  waters, 
and  there  was  not  any  stop  for  meals,  either, ' '  the  story 
of  the  historic  capture  has  been  told.  Finally  the  fish 
grew  weary  and  was  lashed  to  the  yacht,  a  thirty-one- 
ton  vessel.  But  soon,  rested,  it  began  to  show  signs  of 
returning  interest.  Presently  with  one  powerful  blow 
of  its  tail  it  knocked  the  rudder  and  propeller  off  the 
yacht  and  smashed  in  a  part  of  the  hull.  Even  after  the 
fish  had  been  towed  to  the  dock  a  flip  of  its  tail  smashed 
a  portion  of  the  dock  and  broke  the  leg  of  a  bystander. 

Then  it  was  found  that  the  monster  weighed  fifteen 
tons.  It  had  in  its  stomach  another  fish  weighing  more 
than  half  a  ton !  It  was  probably  a  deep-sea  fish  that 
had  strayed  from  its  proper  feeding  grounds. 

Another  season  the  same  mighty  fisherman  suc- 
ceeded in  taking  two  of  the  largest  tarpon  ever  brought 
to  Miami ;  one  weighed  one  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
pounds  and  the  other  one  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
pounds.  The  catch  was  made  on  heavy  tackle — a 
twenty-one-strand  line  and  a  nine-ounce-tip  rod. 

Is  it  strange  that  Colonel  Henry  Watterson  spoke 
of  Florida  waters  as  "the  greatest  hunting  and  fishing 
region  of  the  world"? 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
ON  THE  WEST  COAST  OF  FLORIDA 

THE  West  Coast  of  Florida  is  like  the  East 
Coast  in  one  thing  only — both  are  so  attractive 
that  it  is  difficult  to  choose  between  them.  And 
they  are  so  different  that  it  is  impossible  to  compare 
them.  Where  the  East  Coast  has  nearly  five  hundred 
miles  of  low-lying  shore,  sometimes  mainland,  again 
narrow  peninsulas  between  inlets  and  the  ocean,  the 
West  Coast  has  more  than  seven  hundred  miles  of  the 
most  varied  shore  line,  with  bays  and  islands,  keys  and 
rivers,  inlets  and  peninsulas  innumerable.  All  the  way 
from  Pensacola,  near  the  Alabama  line,  to  Cape  Sable, 
at  the  southwest  tip  of  the  state,  every  mile  has  its 
distinct  charm  for  the  yachtsman  or  the  fisherman  who 
by  sea  follows  its  sinuous  lines,  while  the  traveler  who 
traces  the  coast  by  land — when  he  can — is  so  pleased 
that  he  is  apt  to  wish  that  he  could  in  this  way  cover 
the  entire  distance.  No,  it  is  nonsense  to  ask  anyone 
which  coast  he  prefers;  the  only  way  is  to  see  both 
coasts  thoroughly  and  decide  the  question  indepen- 
dently. And  in  how  many  cases  the  result  will  be  the 
statement,  "I  cannot  choose;  I  like  them  both." 

While  Pensacola  and  Santa  Eosa  Bay,  Choektawhat- 
chee  Bay  and  Apalachicola  Bay,  St.  George 's  Sound 
and  Apalachee  Bay  are,  strictly  speaking,  parts  of  the 
West  Coast,  the  term  as  generally  understood  includes 
the  section  below  the  storied  Suwannee  River,  including 
Wacassassee  Bay,  Withlacoochee  Bay,  Tampa  Bay, 

156 


ON    BAYSHORE    DRIVE,    TAMPA,    FLORIDA 


IN    PLANT    PARK,    TAMPA,    FLORIDA 


ON  THE   WEST  COAST  OF  FLORIDA 

Charlotte  Harbor,  Ship  Channel,  Ponce  de  Leon  Bay 
and  scores  more  of  the  inlets  whose  very  names  excite 
curiosity,  as  well  as  the  cities  and  towns  within  reach 
of  these  waterways.  All  these  speak  eloquently  of  the 
days  of  old  and  of  present  delightful  opportunity  for 
hunter,  fisherman,  sightseer  or  the  seeker  after  rest 
and  refreshment. 

Homosassa,  luring  the  sportsman,  and  Brooksville, 
from  its  lordly  eminence — for  Florida — of  three  hun- 
dred feet  in  the  high  hammock  land,  are  good  intro- 
ductions to  the  odd  peninsulas  of  Tampa  Bay,  a  little 
farther  south,  all  within  easy  reach  of  the  visitor  who 
makes  his  headquarters  at  Tampa,  the  city  that  has 
grown  in  a  generation  from  a  mere  fishing  village  until 
now  it  is  one  of  the  important  ports  on  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  as  well  as  a  commercial  center  of  parts,  and  a 
tourist  city  the  name  of  which  instantly  comes  to  mind 
when  Florida  is  mentioned.  , 

Though  nearly  four  centuries  have  passed  since 
Hernando  de  Soto  sailed  into  Tampa  Bay  and  won- 
dered at  the  beauty  of  its  surroundings,  his  successors 
in  discovery  are  more  numerous  every  year.  They 
come  over  the  railroad  that  is  a  monument  to  H.  B. 
Plant,  the  great  developer  of  the  West  Coast,  to  the 
three-million-dollar  Tampa  Bay  Hotel,  another  monu- 
ment; they  come  by  sea  into  the  bay  where  there  are 
already  twenty-four  feet  of  water  in  the  channel,  one 
of  the  bays  that  boasts  it  can  float  readily  "all  the 
navies  in  the  world. "  Perhaps  they  come  doubting  the 
reliability  of  the  tales  they  have  heard  of  Tampa,  but 
if  they  give  themselves  a  little  time  they  will  go  away 
telling  others  of  the  glories  they  have  seen — the  water 
vistas  that  satisfy  even  those  who  have  thought  they 

157 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

could  not  find  satisfaction  in  any  view  until  once  more 
they  feast  their  eyes  on  the  blue  sea  and  the  azure  sky 
of  the  coast  of  Italy;  the  drives  along  the  shores  and 
through  the  parks  and  out  into  the  open  country  that 
give  a  new  conception  of  the  meaning  of  automobile 
delight;  the  sulphur  spring  of  Stomawa,  so  named  by 
the  Seminole  Indians  who  sought  its  waters  for  heal- 
ing; the  Carnival  Gasparilla  Krewe,  commemorating 
the  career  of  Gasparilla  and  his  pirate  crew,  who  long 
ago  struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  mariners  on  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  because  it  was  never  known  when  they 
would  dart  out  through  Gasparilla  Pass,  from  their 
hiding  places  in  Charlotte  Harbor,  beyond  Gasparilla 
Island;  the  ride  to  Ybor  City,  whose  buildings  and 
people  seem  as  if  transplanted  from  Cuba  to  the  main- 
land; the  sails  on  the  waters  of  the  bay  and  its  brief 
tributaries  productive  of  joy  that  is  anything  but  brief. 
That  is  a  long  sentence,  but  it  could  easily  be  made 
longer  and  still  fail  of  doing  justice  to  Tampa  and 
its  surroundings ! 

Separating  Tampa  Bay  from  the  Gulf  is  Pinellas 
Peninsula.  This  is  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  counties 
of  Florida,  yet  it  holds  a  remarkable  array  of  cities 
and  towns  of  such  variety  that  some  of  them  might 
well  be  leagues  apart.  Down  at  the  point  of  the  penin- 
sula, accessible  by  rail  from  Jacksonville  and  connected 
with  Tampa  by  steamer,  is  St.  Petersburg,  the  marvel 
town  of  West  Florida,  which,  in  its  rapid  development, 
is  a  close  second  to  Miami.  A  few  years  ago  there  were 
several  thousand  permanent  residents  there,  but  now 
the  progress  is  so  rapid  that  it  is  unwise  to  say  how 
many  people  there  are ;  there  may  be  a  change  almost 
overnight.  Tourists  flock  to  the  resort  for  the  fishing  in 

158 


ON  THE   WEST  COAST  OF  FLORIDA 

neighboring  waters;  the  bathing  on  the  beaches  of 
islands  and  keys ;  the  clear  air ;  the  walks  and  drives 
among  the  magnolias,  the  evergreens,  the  palms,  and 
the  abounding  flowers,  and  for  the  little  journeys  up  the 
narrow  peninsula.  There  they  find  Belleair,  with  its 
Belleview  Hotel,  worthy  to  be  named  with  the  great 
caravansaries  of  the  East  Coast,  and  Clearwater,  cen- 
ter for  drives  among  the  orange  groves  and  famous 
vantage  point  for  views  of  the  Gulf.  A  few  miles 
farther  on  is  Tarpon  Springs,  center  of  the  sponge 
industry,  headquarters  of  scores  of  vessels  that  go  out 
into  the  Gulf  with  divers  who  bring  from  the  rocky 
bottom  the  sponges  that  later  are  sold  at  the  auctions 
regularly  held  in  town.  Most  of  the  members  of  the 
crews  and  the  divers  themselves  are  Greeks.  There 
are  so  many  of  them  that  a  local  newspaper  prints  mes- 
sages for  them  in  their  own  language. 

St.  Petersburg  is  within  reach  of  another  industry 
for  which  Florida  has  become  famous.  Polk  County, 
some  distance  to  the  east  of  Tampa  Bay,  is  the  center 
of  phosphate  mining.  Bartow — a  town  of  fine  houses 
that  rejoices  in  an  elevation  of  one  hundred  and  six- 
teen feet — is  the  metropolis  of  the  belt  that  supplies  a 
large  proportion  of  the  phosphate  produced  in  the 
United  States.  Tampa  is  the  outlet  for  much  of  the 
rock  that  is  the  dependence  of  farmers  of  states  to 
the  north. 

All  about  Tampa  Bay  and  its  inlets  bird  life  is 
generously  rich.  There  are  curious  creatures  like  the 
crane,  the  pelican  and  the  snipe,  and  there  are  birds 
beautiful  for  plumage  and  song.  Mocking-birds  are 
numerous.  And  if  there  is  desire  to  see  protected  birds 
in  their  native  haunts,  it  is  only  necessary  to  go  to 

159 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Passage  Key,  at  the  mouth  of  Tampa  Bay,  a  great 
breeding-place  for  herons  and  other  birds,  or  the  near- 
by Indian  Key,  to  the  north,  where  there  is  teeming  life 
comparable  to  that  at  the  Mosquito  Inlet  reservation 
on  the  East  Coast. 

One  of  the  most  intricate  bits  of  the  West  Coast  is 
along  the  border  of  Manatee  County,  where  a  normal 
sixty  miles  of  coast  becomes  one  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  by  reason  of  numerous  islands  and  keys.  From 
the  sea  the  shore  is  wildly  beautiful,  and  from  the  shore 
the  sea  is  a  vision  of  untold  wonder.  Back  in  the 
interior,  clustered  about  and  near  the  shore  of  Manatee 
Eiver,  are  Palmetto,  where  live  prosperous  farmers 
who  cultivate  farms  in  the  country  near;  Manatee,  in 
the  wilds  of  hammocked  pinelands,  famous  for  a  min- 
eral spring  in  the  main  street ;  and  Bradentown,  which 
the  motorist  remembers  for  the  drives  along  the  river 
that  varies  in  width  from  one  to  two  miles  and  along  the 
bay  to  Cortez. 

Charlotte  Harbor,  one-time  haunt  of  Gasparilla, 
the  pirate,  gives  entrance  to  the  Miakka  Biver,  whose 
crooked,  tree-clad  banks  lead  entirely  across  Manatee 
County,  while  below  Charlotte  Harbor,  at  the  lower 
end  of  Pine  Island,  the  Caloosahatchee  Eiver,  outlet 
of  Lake  Okeechobee,  shows  the  way  to  Fort  Myers,  said 
to  be  the  most  tropical  town  in  Florida,  metropolis  of 
a  county  larger  than  Ehode  Island  and  Delaware  com- 
bined, where  less  than  ten  thousand  of  the  two  million 
and  a  half  acres  are  yet  cultivated.  The  town  is  a 
center  for  the  motorist,  the  fisherman  and  the  house- 
boatman.  The  Tamiami  Trail  crosses  the  county, 
through  regions  of  mystery  and  beauty,  and  the  water- 
ways give  access  to  Pine  Island  on  the  north,  whose 

160 


ON  THE   WEST  COAST  OF  FLORIDA 

twenty  thousand  acres  are  under  intensive  cultivation, 
and  to  the  Ten  Thousand  Islands,  away  to  the  south, 
where  water-fowl  are  monarchs,  as  well  as  the  numer- 
ous keys  between.  There  are  so  many  of  these  water- 
ways that,  without  exception,  every  post-office  in  the 
county  is  reached  by  them. 

Fort  Myers,  established  in  1841  as  a  government 
post,  saw  much  fighting  during  the  second  Seminole 
War.  Thus,  in  a  way,  was  carried  out  a  part  of  the 
plan  of  a  visionary  of  early  days  who  proposed  to  Great 
Britain  "the  creation  of  two  structures,  one  on  the 
eastern  and  the  other  on  the  western  side  of  the  penin- 
sula, about  the  latitude  of  Cape  Florida,  which  should 
be  supplied  with  cannon ;  large  enough  to  accommodate 
several  hundred  persons,  and  should  have  sloops  and 
barges  attached. ' ' 

These  were  to  be  called  Pharuses.  In  his  report  to 
the  King  of  England  the  author  of  the  plan  said : 

"  These  Pharuses,  with  the  excellent  appellations 
of  George  and  Charlotte,  would  eternalize  the  glory  of 
these  royal  authors,  who  have  stretched  out  parental 
hands  to  facilitate  the  hitherto  dangerous  and  inevit- 
able navigation  of  that  dreadful  promontory  and  ter- 
minate your  Majesty's  conquest  of  the  Country,  which 
sets  the  western  bounds  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 


11 


CHAPTER  XIX 
IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  FLORIDA 

IT  is  a  mistake  to  think  that  when  the  East  Coast 
and  West  Coast  of  Florida  are  seen  the  state  has 
yielded  its  secrets.  The  higher  lands  of  the  in- 
terior, the  backbone  of  the  state,  as  these  are  called, 
repay  attention.  And  approach  to  them  is  not  difficult ; 
railroad,  highway  and  river  give  ample  choice  of  means 
of  access.  However,  it  should  be  said  of  those  who 
choose  the  railroad  that  it  is  never  wise  to  be  in  a 
hurry.  It  is  a  simple  matter  to  go  from  Jacksonville 
south  toward  Key  West,  or  to  Tampa  and  Lake  Okee- 
chobee.  But  those  who  wish  to  go  across  the  state  had 
better  give  up  the  notion  of  making  close  connection 
or  of  simplifying  the  intricacies  of  the  time-table.  It 
is  possible  to  cross  the  state  from  New  Smyrna  to 
Tampa,  but  even  this  trip  calls  for  patience  out  of  all 
proportion  to  the  distance.  The  best  course,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  seems  to  be  to  go  back  to  Jacksonville 
and  start  all  over  again. 

Yet  the  day  must  come  when  there  will  be  a  different 
story  to  tell.  The  present  lines  will  be  better  coordi- 
nated, and  new  lines  will  be  built  to  link  up  short  roads 
into  through  routes.  There  will  be  a  road  from  Miami, 
through  the  Everglades,  past  Lake  Okeechobee,  to 
Tampa  Bay.  Tampa  will  be  linked  with  Tallahassee  by 
a  line  that  will  make  unnecessary  the  trip  to  Jack- 
sonville and  a  long  journey  across  Northern  Florida. 
The  progress  of  railroad  building  in  Florida  has  been 
marvellous,  but  ten  or  twenty  years  hence  those  who 

162 


IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  FLORIDA 

look  back  will  probably  wonder  that  so  many  seemed 
satisfied  with  the  old  ways. 

The  man  with  a  machine  can  go  not  only  to  many 
sections  where  the  railroad  leads,  and  often  more 
quickly,  but  he  can  also  go  to  regions  where  there  is 
as  yet  no  railroad.  For  there  are  considerably  more 
than  five  thousand  miles  of  surfaced  road  in  the  state — 
brick,  concrete,  asphalt,  macadam,  shell  and  sandy 
clay ;  and  there  are  nearly  as  many  miles  more  of  sandy 
road.  From  Tallahassee  it  is  possible  to  go,  by  way 
of  Madison  and  Lake  City,  to  Gainesville  and  Tampa. 
From  Jacksonville,  too,  there  is  a  good  road  to  Tampa, 
by  way  of  Sanford  near  the  East  Coast,  then  on  to 
Winter  Park,  Orlando,  Kissimmee,  Haines  City  and 
Lakeland.  Numberless  side  trips  lead  among  the  lakes 
for  which  the  highlands  of  Florida  are  famous,  where 
orange  groves  and  grape-fruit  trees  abound,  where  the 
temperature  is  higher  than  at  the  corresponding  lati- 
tude on  the  coast,  where  the  air  is  dryer  and  the  days 
are  one  long  delight.  There  are  hundreds  of  these 
lakes,  and  a  number  of  the  largest  of  them,  if  connected, 
would  supply  water  transportation  for  more  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Many  are  large  enough  to 
make  quite  a  showing  even  on  a  small-scale  map ;  others 
are  quite  infinitesimal.  But  all  have  charms  for  the 
tourist  or  for  the  resident  of  the  towns  scattered  among 
them  or  for  the  landed  proprietor  whose  holdings,  it 
may  be,  include  one,  two  or  three  of  these  gems 
of  crystal. 

On  the  way  from  Jacksonville  to  Miami  is  the  won- 
derful ocean  drive — sixty-six  miles  from  Palm  Beach 
to  the  metropolis  of  Bade  County.  A  new  road  crosses 
the  Everglades  from  Palm  Beach  past  the  lower  end 

163 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

of  Lake  Okeechobee  to  Fort  Myers.  From  Miami  also 
the  Everglades  are  crossed,  this  time  by  a  road  to 
Marco  on  the  West  Coast,  while  it  cannot  be  long  until 
the  Tamiami  Trail  between  Miami  and  Tampa  will  be 
open  throughout. 

Miami  is  also  the  starting-point  for  a  road  that  is 
to  reach  Cape  Sable,  at  the  tip  of  the  mainland.  Once 
the  East  Coast  railroad  engineers  seriously  consid- 
ered the  extension  of  its  tracks  over  this  route,  but  they 
decided  that  the  difficulties  of  the  Everglades  and  the 
Mangrove  Swamp  were  too  great  for  conquest.  This 
was  before  the  plan  to  build  to  Key  West  was  proposed. 
But  the  road  builders  have  not  been  deterred  by  diffi- 
culties; so  the  machine  can  make  its  way  far  south 
amid  some  of  the  choicest  scenery  of  a  state  that  has 
so  much  to  offer  that  descriptive  adjectives  fail. 

Dade  County's  part  of  the  highway  toward  Cape 
Sable — the  Ingraham  Highway,  it  is  called — has  been 
completed,  and  hundreds  of  machines  go  every  year  to 
Paradise  Key  in  the  Everglades,  a  hammock  that  the 
Florida  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  has  succeeded 
in  having  set  apart  as  the  Eoyal  Palm  State  Park,  It 
is  their  wish  that  this  richest  survival  of  the  glorious 
vegetation  of  the  Everglade  Keys  may  be  preserved 
for  the  pleasure  of  the  people. 

The  park  is  forty-two  miles  south  of  Miami  and  is 
twelve  miles  from  the  nearest  post-office.  The  State 
Legislature  ceded  nine  hundred  and  sixty  acres  in  1915. 
Mrs.  Henry  M.  Flagler  added  as  many  more.  Of  the 
nineteen  hundred  and  twenty  acres  more  than  three 
hundred  acres  are  in  tropical  jungle,  unlike  any  other 
in  the  United  States.  The  growth,  botanically,  is  West 
Indian.  It  includes  six  hundred  and  ninety  royal  palm 

164 


IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  FLORIDA 

trees  more  than  one  hundred  feet  high,  stately  live-oaks 
hidden  by  cascades  of  silver  moss,  and  rare  ferns  and 
orchids.  One  hundred  and  twenty-three  species  of 
birds,  including  both  native  and  migrating  varieties, 
have  been  listed. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  the  Federation  to  preserve  the 
jungle  in  its  natural  state,  so  far  as  possible.  The 
state  gives  one  dollar  per  year  toward  the  expenses,  but 
Dade  County  is  much  more  liberal.  Most  of  the  funds 
needed  come  directly  from  the  women,  or  from  the  five 
hundred  acres  of  the  tract  that  are  rented  to  farmers. 
Although  the  burden  of  raising  the  funds  required  is 
great,  the  women  wish  to  add  to  their  responsibilities 
by  establishing  a  bird  sanctuary  in  four  sections  of 
swamp  land  adjoining  the  park  which  they  hope  to 
persuade  Florida  to  give  for  the  purpose. 

During  a  recent  year  visitors  from  forty-five  states, 
Nova  Scotia,  Ontario,  Saskatchewan,  the  Philippine 
Islands,  Porto  Eico,  Brazil  and  the  Bahamas  registered 
at  the  park,  many  of  them  being  entertained  at  the  com- 
fortable lodge  kept  open  for  their  accommodation. 
Probably  half  of  the  visitors  failed  to  register.  Nearly 
twelve  hundred  automobiles  entered  the  park  during 
the  year. 

One  of  the  visitors,  himself  a  scientist,  said  en- 
thusiastically : 

"I  have  been  all  over  the  warmer  parts  of  Florida, 
including  the  lower  Keys,  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Cuba,  the  Republic  of  Haiti,  the  entire  island 
of  Jamaica,  and  quite  a  little  of  Spanish  Honduras. 
I  have  sailed  through  the  lovely  Bahama  Archipelago 
and  landed  on  several  of  its  islands.  I  have  visited 
the  Bermudas,  and  cruised  again  and  again  through 

165 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  entire  Mediterranean  and  down  the  West  Coast  of 
Africa,  but  my  eyes  have  never  rested  on  any  spot 
on  earth  as  beautiful  as  Paradise  Key. ' ' 

Some  day  the  Eoyal  Palm  State  Park  may  be  made 
a  National  Park,  but  always  the  honor  will  belong  to 
the  women  of  Florida,  who  saved  it  from  destruction 
and  preserved  it  for  posterity. 

Other  tropical  delights  of  interior  Florida  are  open 
to  those  who  take  any  one  of  a  dozen  of  the  unrivaled 
water  trips,  for  instance  the  journey  from  Kissimmee 
through  Tohopekaliga  Lake,  Cypress  Lake,  Lake  Kis- 
simmee, the  Kissimmee  Eiver,  Lake  Okeechobee,  and 
the  Caloosahatchee  Eiver  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Then 
there  are  trips  on  the  Tomoka  Eiver,  from  Daytona, 
and  on  the  Suwannee  Eiver.  Though  these  rivers  are 
widely  separated,  both  lead  into  unexpected  tangles  of 
trees  with  their  festoons  of  Spanish  moss.  From 
Tampa  a  popular  trip  is  on  the  bay  and  up  the  Mana- 
tee Eiver,  among  the  orange  groves.  The  stream,  very 
wide  at  the  start,  narrows,  rapidly,  especially  above 
the  forks. 

But  of  all  the  rivers  in  Florida  the  Ocklawaha  offers 
what  many  consider  the  choicest  tour  of  all.  The  start 
is  at  Palatka.  First  come  twenty-five  miles  on  the  St. 
Johns  Eiver,  then  follow  one  hundred  miles  on  the 
Ocklawaha,  and  finally  nine  miles  on  Silver  Eiver.  A 
map  of  the  narrow,  crooked  Ocklawaha  looks  like  the 
writhings  of  a  snake  in  torture.  But  there  is  no  tor- 
ture for  the  fortunate  passenger  who  moves  among 
the  dense  growth  of  cypress,  palmetto,  pine,  gum,  palm, 
horse-chestnut,  bay,  dogwood,  rhododendron  and  wood- 
bine. The  daylight  trip  is  a  revelation,  and  the  journey 
by  night  is  a  wonder — for  then  the  searchlight,  playing 

166 


IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  FLORIDA 

on  the  overhanging  trees,  gives  them  a  beauty  that 
seems  unearthly. 

The  last  bit  of  the  ride,  on  the  Silver  Eiver,  is  on 
sparkling  water,  where  the  bottom  may  be  seen  with 
distinctness.  The  river  issues  from  Silver  Springs, 
where  the  flow  is  estimated  to  be  three  hundred  million 
gallons  a  day.  There  the  prosaic  steamer  no  longer 
satisfies ;  it  is  necessary  to  enter  one  of  the  glass-bot- 
tomed rowboats  that  the  animal  life  below  may  be 
studied,  and  the  water  bubbling  from  the  sands. 

But  the  best  known  of  the  river  trips  is  up  the  St. 
Johns  from  Jacksonville  to  Sanford.  The  journey  re- 
quires nineteen  hours,  and  the  fare,  which  includes 
meals  and  berth,  is  surprisingly  reasonable.  The  jour- 
ney past  the  crowding  trees  on  the  bank,  and  among  the 
hyacinths  on  the  water  that  seem  to  bar  the  passage 
of  the  steamer,  is  so  pleasant  that  many  who  take  it 
once  say  they  will  never  again  willingly  use  the  rail- 
road to  Sanford.  Strange  birds  fly  overhead,  herons 
stand  on  the  banks,  at  times  alligators  slip  with 
a  splash  into  the  water  or  lift  impudent  snouts  above 
the  surface. 

Thirty  miles  from  Jacksonville  is  Green  Cove 
Springs,  a  resort  famous  in  the  days  before  the  rail- 
roads, when  steamers  from  New  York  entered  the 
broad  St.  Johns  and  delivered  at  the  springs  the  pas- 
sengers attracted  by  the  sulphur  and  chalybeate  waters 
which  came  from  a  depth  of  forty  feet. 

At  Green  Cove  Springs  the  St.  Johns  is  five  miles 
wide,  and  for  some  distance  it  continues  so  wide  and 
deep  that  the  steamers  from  the  Atlantic  find  no  dif- 
ficulty in  going  as  far  as  Palatka,  a  point  of  such  im- 
portance that  the  East  Coast  Railroad  makes  for  it  the 
only  departure  from  its  course  close  to  the  Atlantic, 


CHAPTER  XX 
IN  WEST  FLORIDA 

NOT  many  of  those  who  pass  through  Alabama 
on  the  New  York  and  New  Orleans  limited 
realize,  when  they  reach  Plomaton  Junction, 
almost  on  the  line  between  Alabama  and  Florida,  that 
they  are  on  historic  ground.  This  was  a  point  on  one 
of  the  earliest  railroads  projected  in  the  United  States, 
to  run  from  Pensacola  to  Montgomery.  The  original 
project  dates  from  1836.  Iron  and  cars  were  brought 
from  England.  Three  shiploads  of  Irish  laborers  were 
imported,  but  they  fought  among  themselves  and  it 
was  necessary  to  replace  them  by  four  shiploads  of 
Dutch  workmen.  The  roadbed  was  graded  all  the  way 
to  Montgomery,  but  not  until  after  the  Civil  War  was 
the  work  completed  to  Flomaton. 

Pensacola,  the  terminus  of  the  historic  road,  has 
a  history  as  varied  and  interesting  as  that  of  St.  Augus- 
tine. Possibly  Ponce  de  Leon  visited  the  bay  in  1513. 
Pamfilo  de  Narvaez  certainly  paused  there  fifteen  years 
later,  and  in  1540  Maldonado  led  De  Soto's  fleet  into 
the  harbor  and  named  it  Puerto  d'Auchusi.  But  the 
first  real  settlement  was  not  made  until  1559,  when 
Tristan  de  Luna  named  the  harbor  Santa  Maria  and 
built  a  fort  near  the  present  Fort  Barrancas.  In  1561 
his  colonists  withdrew  and  the  favored  spot  was  with- 
out other  inhabitants  than  the  Indians  until  1696,  when 
Don  Andres  d'Arriola  built  Fort  San  Carlos,  where 
Fort  Barrancas  now  stands,  six  miles  south  of  Pensa- 

168 


IN   WEST  FLORIDA 

cola,  near  the  mouth  of  the  bay.  He  called  the  set- 
tlement Pensacola.  During  the  succeeding  one  hundred 
and  sixty-six  years,  four  different  countries  ruled  Pen- 
sacola in  startling  succession — first  Spain,  then  France, 
then  Spain,  then  France,  then  Spain,  then  Great  Brit- 
ain, then  Spain,  and  finally  the  United  States.  For  a 
time  the  flag  of  the  Confederate  States  flew  over  the 
city,  though  never  over  Fort  Pickens,  situated  on  the 
west  end  of  Santa  Rosa  Island,  where  the  Spanish  made 
their  settlement  in  1723,  when  the  French  under  De 
Bienville  yielded  possession,  remaining  there  until 
1754.  A  hurricane  drove  them  back  to  the  mainland. 
That  year  saw  the  real  beginning  of  Pensacola,  which 
now  rules  the  most  important  deep-water  harbor  south 
of  Hampton  Eoads,  and  boasts  a  large  United  States 
naval  station. 

When  the  city  was  laid  out,  a  large  territory, 
bounded  by  Intendencia  Street,  was  reserved  for  a 
park,  but  the  limits  have  been  gradually  reduced  until 
all  that  is  left  of  it  is  in  Surville  Square  and  Fer- 
dinand Square.  Palafox  Hill  is  the  modern  name  of 
old  Gage  Hill,  once  the  site  of  an  observatory  where 
watch  was  kept  for  pirates. 

One  of  the  chief  attractions  of  the  neighborhood 
of  Pensacola  is  the  Florida  National  Forest  to  the 
east  of  the  city.  This  includes  lands  bought  in  1828 
by  the  Government  for  the  navy,  the  live-oak  being 
desirable  for  shipbuilding  purposes.  More  than  seven 
hundred  square  miles  in  Santa  Rosa,  Okaloosa  and 
Walton  Counties  were,  in  1908,  withdrawn  from 
homestead  entry,  that  the  National  Forest  might 
be  established. 

A  visit  to  this  Florida  National  Forest  should  be 

169 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

made  a  part  of  a  trip  to  the  South.  There  is  a  good 
automobile  road  across  the  pine  lands  from  Crestview 
to  Niceville  on  Boggy  Bayou,  and  from  that  point  to 
Camp  Pinchot  Eanger  Station.  There  is  no  ride  like 
this  in  all  of  Uncle  Sam's  vast  forest  domain — among 
the  live-oaks,  the  cypresses  and  the  long-leaf  pines, 
which  rise  forty  to  sixty  feet  before  spreading  out  their 
dense  foliage.  Along  the  road  one  seems  to  be  riding 
through  the  arches  of  a  cathedral.  Turpentine  camps 
and  turpentine  stills  are  numerous,  and  there  is  ample 
opportunity  to  study  the  simple  yet  novel  methods  of 
gathering  and  distilling  the  fruit  of  the  pine  trees. 

Let  a  day,  at  least,  be  taken  for  the  ride  from  the 
railroad  and  for  a  study  of  the  trees  and  the  turpentine 
industry.  Then  let  more  time  be  devoted  to  a  motor- 
boat  down  Santa  Rosa  Sound  to  twenty-five-mile-long 
Choctawhatchee  Bay,  separated  from  the  Gulf  of  Mex- 
ico by  narrow  spits  of  land,  which  bound  the  narrow 
entrance  through  East  Pass. 

Days  may  be  spent  gunning  or  fishing  along  the  low- 
lying  shores  in  Hogtown  Bayou,  among  the  labyrinthine 
mouths  of  Choctawhatchee  Eiver,  up  La  Grange  Bayou 
and  Alaqua  Bayou,  Rocky  Bayou  and  Boggy  Bayou, 
back  to  Niceville  and  the  motor  road  that  stretches 
through  the  forest  to  Crestview  and  the  railroad. 

For  the  excursion  the  detailed  map  supplied  by  the 
Forest  Service  will  be  found  invaluable.  The  head- 
quarters of  the  Florida  Forest  are  at  Pensacola  during 
the  winter,  and  at  Camp  Pinchot  during  the  summer, 
and  inquiries  for  maps  should  be  made  to  the  Forest 
Supervisor  at  these  points. 

Perhaps  seventy-five  miles  down  the  coast  from 
the  east  end  of  Choctawhatchee  Bay  is  St,  Josephs 
J70 


MAILBOAT    ON    GARNIER  S    BAYOU,    FLORIDA    NATIONAL    FOREST 


SANTA    ROSA    ISLAND,    FLORIDA    NATIONAL    FOREST 


IN   WEST  FLORIDA 

Bay,  the  site  of  old  St.  Josephs,  once  the  metropolis  of 
Florida.    To-day  not  a  vestige  of  the  town  remains. 

The  rapid  building  of  St.  Josephs  was  due  to  the 
shallow  channels  that  prevented  ships  from  coming 
within  sixteen  miles  of  Apalachicola.  To  avoid  the 
necessity  of  transshipment  of  freight  by  barges,  a  town 
was  projected  on  deep  St.  Josephs  Bay.  One  of  the 
schemers,  who  had  helped  build  the  James  River  and 
Kanawha  Canal  in  Virginia,  proposed  a  canal  from 
lola  on  the  Apalachicola  to  St.  Josephs.  By  this  canal 
produce  was  to  be  brought  to  wharves  on  the  bayou 
side  of  town  and  was  then  to  be  transported  by  rail  to 
the  wharves  on  the  ocean  side,  for  loading  on  ships 
in  the  deep-water  harbor.  His  plan  was  vetoed  in  favor 
of  a  railroad  which,  in  1836  and  1837,  was  built  on 
the  route  of  the  projected  canal. 

For  some  years  traffic  on  the  pioneer  railroad  was 
heavy,  and  Apalachicola  suffered.  A  newspaper  of  the 
day  said  that  twenty  trains  ran  from  Tola  to  St.  Jo- 
sephs each  day.  The  place  grew  until  it  had  four  thou- 
sand people.  There  a  convention  was  held  in  1838  for 
organizing  the  colonial  government — seven  years  be- 
fore the  admission  of  the  state  to  the  Union.  One  who 
attended  this  convention  said  of  St.  Josephs : 

"It  was  then  a  stirring,  busy  place,  the  citizens  full 
of  energy  and  hope,  fine  buildings  and  hotels  adorned 
the  town  and  more  were  building.  Before  the  city  lay 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  ocean  harbors,  with  crys- 
tal, flashing  water  and  snow-like  beach  crowned  with 
verdure  to  the  water's  edge;  to  seaward  bounded  by 
towering  forest-clad  hills  whose  varied  profile  was 
made  more  picturesque  by  the  large  ships  lying  close 
to  their  base." 

171 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Then  came  a  double  catastrophe.  A  ship  from  the 
West  Indies  brought  yellow  fever,  and  hundreds  died, 
including  many  health-seekers  who  had  sought  the  town 
for  the  pleasant  gulf  breezes.  Next  came  a  forest  fire 
which  destroyed  almost  every  house.  Finally  the  rail- 
road was  torn  up,  and  the  bay  had  little  more  promi- 
nence until  the  completion  of  the  Panama  Canal  led 
some  far-seeing  railroad  men  to  talk  of  it  as  the  begin- 
ning of  the  best  ocean  route  to  the  Isthmus. 

The  railroad  from  lola  to  St.  Josephs  had  a  rival — 
that  built  from  Tallahassee  to  St.  Marks,  on  Apalachee 
Bay,  in  1833.  St.  Marks,  too,  has  really  come  again 
into  prominence  because  of  a  canal  project  to  connect 
the  Atlantic  above  Jacksonville  with  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
at  this  point.  The  proposal  is  to  dig  the  canal  from 
Cumberland  Sound,  at  the  mouth  of  St.  Marys  Eiver, 
Georgia,  taking  advantage  of  numerous  waterways  in 
the  course  to  the  gulf.  The  building  of  the  canal  would 
mean  that  ships  could  cut  off  five  hundred  miles  in  the 
trip  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans,  and  that  they 
would  eventually  be  able  to  go  by  inland  waterway  al- 
most the  entire  distance  between  these  two  cities.  The 
project  for  an  inland  waterway  from  St.  Marks  to  New 
Orleans  has  gone  beyond  the  dream  stage. 

St.  Marks  was  the  meeting  point,  in  October,  1823, 
of  commissioners  sent  out  by  the  United  States  to  seek 
a  site  for  the  capital  of  Florida.  Commissioner  Williams 
came  from  Pensacola  in  twenty-four  days.  Commis- 
sioner Simmons  required  twenty-seven  days  for  his  pil- 
grimage from  St.  Augustine.  The  story  of  the  trip, 
in  the  archives  of  the  Florida  Historical  Society,  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  relics  of  the  state's  early  days. 
It  told  of  pack-horse  travel,  boating  on  the  Suwannee, 

172 


IN   WEST  FLORIDA 

shelter  in  an  Indian  bark  camp,  the  passage  across  the 
great  Alachua  savannah,  of  the  sink  called  the  Alli- 
gator Hole,  of  hammocks  and  swamps,  of  lakes  and 
streams  innumerable. 

On  October  26,  1823,  the  two  men  saw  Tallahassee, 
near  the  old  Indian  town  Tuckabatchee.  This  they 
decided  to  recommend  as  the  site  for  the  capital,  and 
in  1824  their  choice  was  confirmed. 

Those  who  approach  the  city  from  any  direction 
will  not  wonder  at  the  selection.  The  situation  is  com- 
manding, on  the  ' '  red  hills  of  old  Leon, ' '  three  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea.  In  most  states  this  would  not  be 
considered  very  high,  but  in  low-lying  Florida  Talla- 
hassee is  lofty. 

And  Tallahassee  is  beautiful.  The  wide,  rambling 
streets,  bordered  by  oaks,  with  their  drapery  of  Span- 
ish moss,  the  spacious  residences,  pleading  with  the 
passer-by  to  enter  and  be  at  home,  the  capitol  with  its 
columned  portico,  combine  to  make  a  picture  that  has 
no  counterpart. 

Time  was  when  Tallahassee  was  a  busy  place.  It 
was  a  point  of  note  on  the  trade  route  from  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky  to  Florida.  Wagoners  entered  fre- 
quently with  their  six-mule  teams.  Traders  brought 
in  large  droves  of  mules  for  sale.  Farmers  from  as  far 
away  as  Thomasville,  Georgia,  would  drive  down  for 
supplies,  thinking  the  week's  journey  of  small  account. 

Among  the  attractive  drives  from  Tallahassee  is  one 
northwest  to  Chipola  Spring  where  "a  river  bursts 
from  the  earth  with  great  force  from  large  masses  of 
rugged  rocks.  The  orifice  opens  to  the  southwest  from 
a  high  swelling  bank.  This  orifice  may  be  thirty  feet 
long  by  eight  feet  wide.  A  large  rock  divides  the  mouth 

173 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

into  two  parts,  at  a  considerable  depth  below  the  sur- 
face. The  water  acts  as  a  prism;  all  objects  seen 
through  it  on  a  sunshiny  day  reflect  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow.  The  spring  at  once  forms  a  river,  one 
hundred  feet  wide  and  eight  feet  deep,  which  joins  the 
Chipola  River  at  about  ten  miles  distance." 

Fifteen  miles  below  Tallahassee,  in  Wakulla 
County,  is  another  of  these  flowing  springs  for  which 
Florida  is  famous.  The  water  is  so  clear  that  a  small 
stone  lying  on  the  bottom,  much  more  than  one  hundred 
feet  below  the  surface,  can  be  distinguished  easily.  In 
fact,  the  waters  act  as  a  magnifying  glass;  they  are 
convex  at  the  surface  because  of  the  rapid  boiling  up 
from  the  hidden  outlet  of  a  stream  that  flows  a  long 
distance  in  a  channel  deep  underground.  From  the 
spring  the  water  flows  to  the  Gulf  in  a  stream  so  large 
that  large  boats  float  on  it  with  ease. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
ROUND  ABOUT  MOBILE 

MOBILE  has  so  much  to  offer  the  visitor  that 
he  is  quite  apt  to  question  his  wisdom  in 
waiting  so  long  to  turn  his  steps  in  that 
direction.  Think  of  a  bay  almost  landlocked  that 
sweeps  thirty  miles  inland,  with  a  channel  sufficiently 
deep  to  accommodate  great  steamships,  with  shores 
that  are  free  from  marshes,  with  beaches  that  are  al- 
ways inviting;  of  a  harbor  development  that  calls  for 
the  construction  of  a  dock  eastwardly  into  the  bay 
8300  feet  long  and  300  feet  wide,  larger  in  every  way 
than  the  famous  projected  Holland  dyke  to  hold  back 
the  water  of  the  Zuyder  Zee ;  of  stately  bluffs  approach- 
ing the  water  in  a  region  where  it  is  natural  to  expect 
only  lowlands;  of  inviting  inlets  where  it  is  a  simple 
matter  for  the  tyro  to  land  his  fish,  while  real  sport 
awaits  the  seasoned  angler ;  of  broad  reaches  of  water 
where  the  motor-boat  can  have  ample  room,  and  re- 
tired, winding  stretches  that  invite  to  lazy  hours  in  a 
rowboat ;  of  a  sky  that  is  blue  and  water  that  changes 
from  green  to  blue  and  back  again  to  green  with  a 
speed  that  baffles  and  gratifies;  of  breezes  warm  yet 
bracing,  now  laden  with  salt  from  the  Gulf,  again 
heavy  with  the  indescribable,  soothing  fragrance  of  the 
pine  forests. 

Then  call  up  memories  of  the  city  seated  by  the 
noble  bay,  with  its  streets  and  parks,  where  the  mag- 
nolia, the  live-oak  and  the  bay  mingle  with  the  sycamore 

175 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

and  the  mulberry ;  where  modern  homes  are  near  neigh- 
bors to  the  ever-fascinating  mansions  that  tell  of  days 
before  the  war ;  where  soft  Southern  accents  are  heard 
with  delight  amid  the  bustle  of  a  modern  city;  where 
commerce  has  thrust  into  the  background,  though  it 
has  not  entirely  removed,  the  business  buildings  of  a 
less  active  time,  which  are  close  neighbors  to  some  of 
the  most  stately  commercial  structures  to  be  found  any- 
where. Nearly  a  century  ago  fires  destroyed  prac- 
tically all  of  the  most  ancient  structures,  and  no  ves- 
tiges of  the  old  forts  are  left.  But  somehow  Mobile 
possesses  the  atmosphere  of  the  past  even  without  the 
buildings  of  other  days. 

Latter-day  architects  in  Mobile  have  learned  that  it 
is  unnecessary  to  go  away  from  their  own  state  to  dis- 
cover building  materials.  To  the  north  there  is  steel 
and  limestone,  which  the  navigable  rivers  float  down  to 
the  waiting  city  at  slight  expense.  Then  there  is 
marble,  and  such  marble !  To  learn  how  fine  it  is  one 
has  only  to  go  to  the  Post-office  Building,  a  building 
of  soft  and  graceful  Italian  Eenaissance  whose  archi- 
tect rejoiced  when  he  heard  of  the  treasures  that  come 
from  the  quarries  in  the  region  between  Montgomery 
and  Birmingham. 

In  Mobile  they  like  to  tell  a  story  of  this  marble. 
They  say  that  when  the  Washington  Monument  was 
building  the  Secretary  of  War  wrote  to  the  governor 
of  Alabama  asking  for  the  early  shipment  of  stone  from 
Alabama  to  be  placed  in  the  monument  in  accordance 
with  the  program  adopted  for  the  participation  of  all 
the  states.  The  stone  was  cut  from  a  quarry  in  Talla- 
dega  Couaity  and  was  shipped  to  its  destination.  When 
the  stone  was  removed  from  the  box  the  chief  engineer, 
176 


ROUND  ABOUT   MOBILE 

astonished  at  its  beauty,  decided  that  the  governor  of 
Alabama,  misunderstanding  the  request,  had  sent  a 
block  of  the  finest  Italian  marble  instead  of  the  native 
Alabama  stone  requested.  At  once  he  told  the  Secre- 
tary of  War  of  the  error. 

So  a  letter  was  sent  from  Washington  to  the  gov- 
ernor of  Alabama  asking  him  to  substitute  Alabama 
stone  for  the  beautiful  block  of  Italian  marble.  The 
reply  from  the  governor  enclosed  affidavits  declaring 
that  the  stone  already  sent  for  the  monument  was  genu- 
ine Alabama  marble.  Followed  an  apology  from 
Washington  and  the  explanation  that  the  builders  of 
the  monument,  who  thought  themselves  familiar  with 
the  country's  building  stone,  were  not  aware  that  such 
perfect  marble  existed  here.  Accordingly  several 
pieces  of  the  Alabama  marble  found  place  in  the  Wash- 
ington monument,  the  choicest  of  them  all  being  di- 
rectly over  the  main  entrance. 

Time  was  in  Mobile  when  it  was  possible  to  say,  as 
did  a  visitor  in  1874,  that  the  city  was  "tranquil  and 
free  from  commercial  bustle  .  .  .  there  is  no  activ- 
ity ;  the  town  is  as  still  as  one  of  those  ancient  fishing 
villages  on  the  Massachusetts  coast  when  the  fishermen 
are  away.'*  But  that  time  has  passed  forever.  The 
city  is  no  longer  content  simply  to  dream  of  its  won- 
derful history.  Or,  possibly,  the  thought  of  that  his- 
tory is  proving  an  inspiration  to  performances  that 
are  making  the  city  great. 

No  wonder!  For  Mobile's  story  goes  back  nearly 
four  centuries,  and  the  record  is  full  of  thrills.  It 
begins  with  the  coming  of  De  Soto  and  his  armored 
Castilians  to  the  Indian  village,  Mauvilia,  on  Choctaw 
Bluff,  where  Tuscaloosa,  the  Black  Warrior,  held  his 

12  177 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

court  behind  pierced  palisades.  The  Spanish  leader 
and  the  hundred  horsemen  with  him,  the  advance  guard 
of  his  expedition,  were  no  sooner  within  the  palisades 
than  a  conflict  with  the  Indians  was  precipitated.  With 
difficulty  the  savages  were  kept  at  bay  until  the  main 
body  of  Castilians  came  up.  Then  the  last  Mauvilian 
perished,  but  not  until  eighty-two  of  De  Soto's  men 
were  dead.  The  toll  of  the  natives  was  heavy ;  Spanish 
historians  say  that  eleven  thousand  Indians  fell.  Prob- 
ably these  figures  were  greatly  exaggerated,  but  the 
slaughter  must  have  been  terrific. 

De  Soto  passed  on.  Indians  came  and  went.  At 
last,  in  1699,  the  French  D'Iberville  landed  with  his 
colonists  on  Dauphin's  Island,  which  they  called  Mas- 
sacre Island,  because  they  found  so  many  human  bones 
there.  Then,  in  1711,  De  Bienville  built  Fort  St.  Louis 
on  the  west  side  of  the  bay  and  laid  out  the  town  of 
Mobile,  which  he  named  from  the  Indians  who  called 
themselves  Mobilians. 

The  importance  of  Mobile  was  recognized  almost 
from  the  first.  The  French  thought  of  it  as  a  key  to 
their  possessions  in  America,  and  when,  in  1763,  the 
settlement  became  a  part  of  the  British  possessions,  an 
English  publication  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
"the  Bay  of  Mobile  forms  a  most  noble  and  spacious 
harbor,  running  north  to  the  several  mouths  of  the 
Halabama  and  Chickasaw  Rivers.  It  affords  very  good 
anchorage  and  is  capable  of  containing  the  whole  Brit- 
ish navy.  The  French,"  the  writer  goes  on,  "perceiv- 
ing the  importance  of  this  place  and  the  advantage  that 
must  naturally  arise  therefrom,  erected  on  the  west 
side  of  this  bay  a  strong  fort  called  after  the  bay.  This 
place  is  now  become  to  us  of  the  utmost  consequence, 

178 


ROUND  ABOUT   MOBILE 

since  all  the  country  to  the  eastward  of  the  Mississippi 
is  ceded  to  us  by  the  late  treaty  of  peace.  The  advan- 
tageous situation  of  this  harbor,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  richest  part  of  the  country,  is,  as  it  were,  a  back 
door  to  New  Orleans,  and  will  ever  remain  an  unmov- 
able  check  by  inevitably  cutting  off  all  communication 
between  the  river  Mississippi  and  Europe  and  the 
French  western  islands." 

Once  more,  in  1780,  Spain  gained  possession  of  the 
placid  bay  and  its  surroundings.  Twenty-seven  years 
later  Aaron  Burr,  fleeing  from  Natchez,  where  he  was 
wanted  on  the  charge  of  conspiracy,  was  captured  in 
Mobile.  The  United  States  flag  first  floated  over  the 
quiet  village  in  1813,  where  it  remained  until  the  flag 
of  the  Confederacy  took  its  place.  Thus,  within  three 
hundred  years,  five  flags  floated  above  dreamy 
Mobile  Bay. 

Four  long  years  passed  before  the  Confederate  flag 
made  way  for  Old  Glory.  For  three  years  Farragut 
hung  about  the  entrance  to  the  bay,  watching  his  chance 
to  force  his  way  past  the  forts.  At  last  his  opportunity 
came.  The  forts  were  triumphantly  left  behind,  the 
ironclad  Tennessee  was  overcome,  and  the  harbor  was 
entered.  No  longer  could  the  blockade-runners  find 
refuge  there.  But  another  year  passed  before  the  city 
was  willing  to  lower  its  colors,  and  then  it  was  forced 
to  do  so  by  the  aid  given  to  Farragut  by  the  victorious 
Federals  from  Montgomery,  who  descended  the  Ala- 
bama Eiver  to  its  junction  with  the  Tombigbee,  and 
then  down  the  Mobile,  through  the  labyrinth  of  its 
delta,  to  the  bay. 

That  delta  is  one  of  Mobile's  greatest  attractions. 
What  an  opportunity  there  is  to  get  lost  in  it !  And  how 

179 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  skilled  master  of  a  motor-boat  does  enjoy  cruising 
along  the  crooked  channels  and  among  the  islands  and 
peninsulas  of  shapes  that  are  as  quaint  and  unusual  as 
the  names  given  to  the  passages.  Think  of  the  delight 
of  poking  along  into  Appalache  River  and  Tensas 
River,  Spanish  River,  Raft  River  and  Polecat  Bay, 
Chickasabogue  Creek  and  Bayou  Sara  and  Chuckby 
Bay,  Nigger  Lake  and  Twelve  Mile  Island  and 
Grand  Bay! 

And  the  fishing  everywhere!  Black  bass  in  the 
bayou,  black  bass  in  the  creeks,  black  bass  in  the  rivers. 
And  when  the  bay  is  entered,  tarpon  and  weakfish,  king- 
fish  and  sheepshead!  A  three-  or  four-pound  black 
bass  will  satisfy  most  sportsmen,  but  if  they  want  some- 
thing bulkier  they  do  not  have  to  go  far  to  get  into  the 
path  of  a  tarpon  of  fifty  pounds,  one  hundred  pounds, 
or  even  two  hundred  pounds.  The  record  catch  in 
Mobile  Bay  in  recent  years  was  a  tarpon  weighing  two 
hundred  and  fifteen  pounds. 

If  the  boatman  wearies  of  the  fishing,  he  has  only 
to  enter  one  of  the  bayous  where  the  cypress  and  the 
moss-hung  live-oaks  mingle  with  the  pines  and  the 
palmettoes,  so  as  to  make  an  ideal  spot  for  day  dreams 
and  long  siestas  that  will  give  appetite  for  the  renewal 
of  the  pursuit  of  the  game  beneath  the  waves. 

But  for  some  travelers  there  is  greater  game  than 
fish  in  the  water.  They  like  to  go  up  the  Mobile  to  the 
meeting  of  the  Alabama  and  the  Tombigbee.  There  they 
are  confronted  with  the  rugged  limestone  bluff  known 
to  the  Indians  as  Hobuckintopa,  though  the  Spanish  in 
1789  called  it  St.  Stephens  when  they  built  a  fort  there. 
General  Wilkinson,  who  took  possession  in  1799,  estab- 
lished a  government  factory  at  St.  Stephens  to  facili- 

180 


• 


' 


ST.    STEPHENS    BLUFF    (HOBUCKINTOPA),    ALABAMA 


OLD    ST.    STEPHENS    STREET    SCENE,    ALABAMA 


ROUND   ABOUT   MOBILE 

tate  dealings  with  the  Indians  and  to  hinder  the  at- 
tempts of  the  Spaniards  at  Mobile  to  inflame  the 
Indians  against  the  Americans.  Gradually  on  Hobuck- 
intopa  grew  a  town  that  surpassed  Mobile  in  import- 
ance. Many  government  officers  were  there.  Among 
them  was  Silas  Dinsmore,  collector  for  the  United 
States,  of  whom  it  is  said  that  he  lost  his  office  by 
injudicious  wit.  The  story  is  that  "when  asked  by  the 
government  authorities  at  Washington  how  far  the 
Tombigbee  ran  up  the  country  he  replied  that  it  did  not 
run  up  the  country  at  all,  but  down. ' ' 

In  1817  St.  Stephens  became  the  capital  of  Ala- 
bama Territory.  During  that  year  a  writer  in  the 
National  Intelligencer  said  that  St.  Stephens  was  "ad- 
vancing with  a  rapidity  beyond  that  of  any  place,  per- 
haps, in  the  Western  country."  The  town  was  situ- 
ated half  a  mile  from  the  river.  There  were  fifty 
houses  at  this  time,  twenty  of  them  being  of  stone,  and 
all  built  on  lots  that  cost  two  hundred  dollars  or  more. 
"New  buildings  are  erected  every  day,"  the  writer 
continued  wonderingly.  "A  hod  man  gets  two  dollars 
per  day  everywhere.  .  .  .  An  academy  has  already 
eighty  scholars,  several  of  whom  are  from  New  Orleans. 
The  annual  amount  of  merchandise  brought  to  and 
vended  at  this  place  is  not  less  than  $500,000,  and  is 
still  increasing. ' ' 

But  St.  Stephens  was  doomed  by  the  death-dealing 
mists  that  rose  upon  Hobuckintopa  from  the  meeting 
waters  of  the  Alabama  and  the  Tombigbee,  as  well  as 
by  constant  fear  of  the  Indians.  One  by  one  the  inhab- 
itants deserted  it,  moving  down  the  river  to  Mobile. 
The  bank  was  closed,  the  houses  were  burned,  and  the 
ruins  were  left  to  be  covered  over  by  the  luxuriant 

181 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

growth  of  the  live-oaks,  the  magnolias  and  the  cy- 
presses. Another  St.  Stephens,  farther  inland,  grew 
up  and  became  the  county  seat  of  Washington  County. 
For  many  years  it  was  a  favorite  pastime  of  visitors, 
in  the  evening  after  court  adjourned,  to  wander  down 
to  the  ruins  of  old  St.  Stephens,  there  to  stand  on  the 
crumbling  stone  walls,  to  trace  the  trails,  to  look  in 
wonder  at  the  trees  growing  over  the  ancient  walls,  or 
to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the  stones  in  the 
old  cemetery. 

Then  the  glory  of  even  the  new  St.  Stephens  de- 
parted, for  the  county  seat  went  to  Chatom,  and  visitors 
to  the  tangled  wilderness  near  the  river  became  fewer. 
Those  who  go  there  to-day  do  not  find  even  the  ruins, 
for  the  stones  have  been  carted  away  for  more  modern 
use.  One  reminder,  at  least,  remains — the  St.  Stephens 
meridian,  which  is  the  basis  of  calculation  for  surveys 
all  about.  Then  the  bluff  Hobuckintopa  still  welcomes 
the  approach  of  travelers  by  the  river  or  by  the  St. 
Stephens  Eoad  from  Mobile  and  urges  them  on  to  the 
forest  that  thickens  where,  one  hundred  years  ago, 
men  toiled  in  the  shop  and  the  factory,  while  women 
made  homes  and  children  played  about  the  streets. 

And  now,  as  then,  the  floods  of  the  mighty  Black 
Warrior  sweep  down  to  the  Tombigbee,  the  Tombigbee 
joins  the  Alabama,  and  the  united  waters  bathe  the 
bold  limestone  bluff,  the  site  of  Fort  St.  Stephens  of  the 
Spanish,  landmark  that  pointed  the  way  to  the  thriving 
first  capital  of  Alabama  Territory. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
UP  NORTH  AND  DOWN  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

IT  is  not  easy  to  realize  that  Alabama  stretches  from 
north  to  south  so  far  that  the  two  counties  bor- 
dering on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  have  nearly  three 
months  more  of  growing  weather  than  the  counties  to 
the  north  of  the  Tennessee  Eiver.  But  it  is  not  dif- 
ficult to  imagine  how  eager  Alabama  is  to  have  more 
of  those  counties  on  the  Gulf.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at 
that  she  casts  longing  eyes  on  the  bit  of  West  Florida 
that  shuts  her  out  from  salt  water,  except  for  a  stretch 
sixty  miles  wide  f  And  is  it  strange  that  Florida  could 
not  think  for  one  moment  of  yielding  that  strip  of  his- 
toric territory,  every  league  of  which  tells  a  story  of 
hardy  explorers  and  sturdy  colonists,  of  Indian  con- 
flicts and  conquests  in  the  face  of  supreme  difficulties  f 
Certainly  it  is  not  stranger  than  was  in  early  days  the 
opposition  in  Alabama  to  the  fixing  of  the  eastern 
boundary  of  Mississippi  at  the  Tombigbee  River  so 
as  to  include  Mobile. 

At  any  rate,  the  two  counties  about  Mobile  Bay  be- 
long naturally  to  Alabama,  for  between  them  flows  the 
great  stream  that  carries  the  drainage  from  four-fifths 
of  the  state.  This  drainage  system  is  one  of  the  most 
marvellous  water  features  of  the  continent;  the  Tom- 
bigbee and  the  Black  Warrior  are  to  the  western  part 
of  the  state  what  the  Alabama,  the  Talapoosa  and  the 
Coosa  are  to  the  eastern  and  central  portions.  And 
what  varied  country  they  pass!  They  go  by  rugged 
mountains,  past  green  hills,  below  bold  cliffs,  on  to  the 
marshes  and  bayous ;  through  quiet  valleys  and  sleepy 

183 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

villages  and  busy  town  and  cities;  in  long,  straight 
sweeps  and  around  sinuous  bends;  making  reverse 
curves  that  are  the  despair  of  the  navigator  as  they  are 
the  delight  of  the  lover  of  the  open  country,  moving 
silently  where  the  channel  is  deep  or  brawling  over 
shoals  and  ledges.  There  is  no  monotony  in  Alabama's 
river  courses. 

The  Tombigbee  became  the  favorite  highway  of 
many  of  the  early  pioneers.  For  years  they  kept  to  the 
lower  reaches  of  the  river,  but  one  of  the  most  pic- 
turesque of  these  movements  penetrated  farther  up- 
stream. In  1817  a  company  of  refugees  from  France 
secured  from  Congress  authority  to  settle  in  four  town- 
ships in  the  central  part  of  Western  Alabama.  For 
the  land  they  were  to  pay  two  dollars  per  acre,  credit 
for  seventeen  years  being  provided.  After  a  stormy 
voyage  by  schooner  from  Philadelphia  to  Mobile,  they 
moved  by  barge  up  the  river  to  St.  Stephens,  then 
pushed  on,  some  of  them  to  the  White  Bluff,  in  what 
is  now  Marengo  County,  others  to  old  Fort  Tombecbee 
in  the  present  Sumter  County.  The  site  of  the  fort  is 
marked  by  a  monument  which  stands  near  the  north 
end  of  the  Queen  and  Crescent  Railroad  bridge  at  Epes. 
The  inscription  on  the  monument  tells  briefly  the  story 
of  the  fort,  which  dates  from  1735 : 

"  Built  by  Jean  Baptiste  Le  Moyne,  Sieur  de  Bien- 
ville,  Governor  of  Louisiana.  Here  civilization  and 
savagery  met  and  the  wilderness  beheld  the  glory 
of  France." 

Those  who  settled  at  the  White  Bluff  built  the  town 
Demopolis,  but  when  they  found  that  their  grant  did 
not  include  this  location  they  scattered  to  the  south 
and  to  the  north.  They  lived  a  happy,  care-free  life, 

184 


NORTH  AND  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

in  the  face  of  the  failure  of  their  olive  groves  and  their 
vineyards,  in  spite  of  the  attempts  of  speculators  to 
fatten  on  them  and  the  hostility  of  the  savages  about 
them.  Gradually,  however,  they  were  displaced  by 
hardier  colonists ;  they  were  better  fitted  for  life  in  a 
gay  city  than  for  overcoming  the  wilderness.  Yet  the 
memory  of  their  stay  persists;  Demopolis  still  stands 
near  the  junction  of  the  Tombigbee  and  the  Black  War- 
rior— a  town  better  known  perhaps  in  the  days  of  the 
Civil  War  than  it  is  to-day,  for  it  was  then  the  site 
of  one  of  the  important  Southern  armories. 

Greensboro,  in  Hale  County,  was  the  center  of  some 
of  the  best  lands  of  these  French  settlers.  How  these 
mercurial  people  would  have  been  delighted  with  the 
story  that  floated  over  from  near-by  Marion  one  Oc- 
tober day  in  1854,  years  after  the  failure  of  the  experi- 
ment of  the  olive  growers!  This  was  the  story  of  a 
slave  who  was  in  the  building  of  Howard  College,  of 
which  his  master,  President  Tailbird,  was  the  head.  In 
the  dead  of  night  the  building  was  found  to  be  burning, 
but  the  fire  had  made  such  headway  that  there  was 
instant  necessity  of  escape  for  those  who  would  save 
their  lives.  The  slave  was  one  of  the  first  aroused. 
When  he  was  warned  to  flee,  he  replied,  quietly,  as 
if  he  was  speaking  a  mere  commonplace, ' '  I  must  wake 
the  boys  first. '  >  Through  the  halls  and  up  the  stairway 
he  rushed,  knocking  at  the  doors  and  calling,  "Fire! 
Fire ! ' '  The  flames  were  growing  fierce,  the  smoke  was 
becoming  stifling,  but  he  kept  on.  He  might  still  have 
escaped,  but  he  had  not  finished  his  self-imposed  task. 
At  last  he  was  overcome  by  the  flames  and  fell  uncon- 
scious. Some  of  the  fleeing  students  carried  him  to  the 
outer  air,  but  it  was  too  late. 

185 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Long  before  the  days  of  either  the  black  hero  or 
the  French  hero-worshippers,  men  of  an  unknown  race 
were  active  near  the  banks  of  the  Black  Warrior  in  the 
far  northern  part  of  Hale  County.  They  built  twenty- 
four  great  mounds,  the  average  height  of  which  is  about 
thirty  feet.  Hidden  in  these  have  been  discovered 
many  relics  of  a  forgotten  age.  The  scientist  has  de- 
parted, but  the  grass-grown  mounds  still  give  a  wel- 
come to  the  traveler  who  rests  in  their  shade. 

Savages  of  a  later  day  made  their  home  in  this 
neighborhood,  at  Tushkaloosh,  "Black  Warrior."  The 
name  was  transferred  almost  without  change  to  beau- 
tiful, progressive  Tuscaloosa,  whose  broad  streets  bor- 
dered with  great  water  oaks  have  given  it  the  title 
"Druid  City."  The  litle  city  first  gained  favor  as  the 
capital  of  the  state,  from  1826  to  1846.  Here,  by  the 
falls  of  the  Black  Warrior,  Francis  Scott  Key,  author 
of  the  "Star-Spangled  Banner,"  paid  a  visit  to  the 
governor,  when  the  journey  from  Maryland  could  be 
made  only  at  cost  of  tremendous  effort. 

From  Tuscaloosa  the  Black  Warrior  reaches  up 
through  some  of  the  most  pleasing  of  Alabama's 
scenery,  as  well  as  through  regions  of  some  of  the  rich- 
est of  her  history.  Coal  and  iron  are  plentiful  near 
at  hand,  and  farther  north  are  some  of  the  finest  of 
the  forest  lands  of  the  state.  In  Lawrence  County  a 
National  Forest  has  been  set  aside.  Travelers  who 
pass  near  by  on  the  highway  will  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  there  is  such  a  reservation.  For,  as  they  drive 
along  through  the  slightly-rolling  land  where  is  nothing 
but  scrub  oak  and  scraggly  pine  trees,  real  trees  seem 
far  away.  But  let  them  leave  the  road  and  dip  into 
a  canyon  which  leads  them  into  a  virgin  forest  of  pop- 

186 


NORTH  AND  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

lar  and  white  oak.  The  remarkable  transformation  is 
staged  within  a  very  short  distance.  Here  is  a  striking 
example  of  the  possibility  of  going  through  a  country 
in  a  machine  and  seeing  nothing,  while  less  than  a 
mile  away  are  canyons  where  flourish  monarchs  of  the 
forest  and  glades  where  trees  lift  their  heads 
proudly  to  the  sky.  One  deep  canyon  is  full  of 
northern  hemlock. 

Of  the  fifty  thousand  acres  in  this  Alabama  forest, 
one-fourth  is  public  domain,  but  all  is  open  to  the  lover 
of  the  wild  who  knows  how  to  enjoy  himself  without 
disregarding  the  rights  of  others. 

There  are  riches  of  another  sort  in  near-by  Franklin 
County.  Here,  at  Russellville,  in  1818,  were  established 
the  first  iron  works  in  Alabama.  That  the  founder's 
faith  in  the  underground  wealth  was  not  misplaced  is 
evident  from  the  fact  that  a  single  acre  near  Russell- 
ville, sold  to  a  negro  for  fifty  dollars,  has  been  pro- 
ducing iron  for  a  long  time,  and  that  so  much  iron  is  in 
sight  that  the  royalties,  at  fifteen  cents  a  ton,  will  soon 
amount  to  four  thousand  dollars. 

Russellville  is  but  a  few  miles  south  of  the  rich 
Muscle  Shoals  region  on  the  Tennessee,  where  Tus- 
cumbia,  Sheffield  and  Florence  rule  the  raging  of  the 
river.  Here,  on  the  site  of  Indian  villages  and  French 
trading-ports,  settlers  made  their  home  as  early  as 
1779.  Fifty-one  years  later  the  legislature  gave  a 
charter  to  the  first  railroad  south  of  the  Alleghenies, 
the  Tuscumbia  and  Decatur,  designed  for  cotton  trans- 
portation. The  track  was  of  bar  iron  bolted  on  par- 
allel wooden  stringers,  and  the  cost  was  less  than  five 
thousand  dollars  per  mile.  On  the  light  roadbed  a 
George  Stephenson  locomotive,  with  a  copper  firebox, 

187 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

was  run  after  the  completion  of  the  forty-six-mile  road 
in  1834.  The  engine,  drawing  cars  laden  high  with 
cotton  bales,  was  able  to  make  ten  miles  an  hour.  But 
soon  it  needed  repairs  that  no  one  could  give,  and  mules 
took  its  place.  A  branch  of  the  Southern  Eailroad  is 
the  successor  of  the  pioneer  road  of  the  South. 

The  first  canal  in  Alabama  was  opened  in  1832, 
two  years  before  the  completion  of  the  first  railroad. 
This  also  was  planned  to  open  up  some  of  the  rich 
territory  bordering  on  the  Tennessee.  Huntsville,  a 
few  miles  above  the  river,  was  the  southern  terminus. 
By  that  time  Huntsville  was  more  than  twenty  years 
old.  When  the  town  was  eight  years  old  the  constitu- 
tional convention  was  held  there,  and  for  some  years 
it  was  the  capital.  Two  years  before  the  date  of  the 
constitutional  convention  a  traveler  wrote  with  great 
approval  of  the  two  hundred  and  sixty  houses,  several 
of  them  three  stories  high,  and  of  the  beauty  of  the 
surroundings.  From  early  days  the  hills  about  the 
town  have  been  a  favorite  dwelling  place  of  those  who 
sought  and  found  "the  loveliest  characteristics  of  a 
northern,  with  all  the  fragrant  luxuriance  and  voluptu- 
ousness of  a  southern  climate."  The  Indians,  too,  de- 
lighted in  the  beauty  and  the  climate,  but  the  white  men 
gradually  drove  them  away.  As  a  Choctaw  warrior 
mourned,  "Like  the  leaves  of  the  sycamore,  when  the 
wind  of  winter  is  blowing,  the  Indians  are  passing  away, 
and  the  white  people  will  soon  know  no  more  of  them. ' ' 

In  the  country  of  the  reluctantly-departing  Cherokee 
there  is  another  town  that  is  as  characteristic  of  the 
upper  Alabama  counties  as  Huntsville — Guntersville, 
pleasantly  located  at  the  point  where  the  Tennessee 
River  reaches  its  farthest  south  in  the  state  in  the  jour- 

188 


NORTH   AND  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

ney  from  Chattanooga  before  turning  to  the  northwest 
and  the  Muscle  Shoals  and,  later,  Tennessee. 

Within  easy  reach  of  Guntersville  are  mountains, 
not  lofty,  perhaps,  but  always  attractive.  Lookout 
Mountain,  at  whose  foot  nestles  Gadsden  on  the  Coosa, 
another  of  the  state's  bustling  steel  cities,  is  notable, 
among  other  reasons,  because  of  beautiful  Noccalula 
Falls,  where  the  water  drops  ninety-six  feet. 

To-day  the  visitor  to  this  section  of  Alabama  has 
little  difficulty  in  going  here  and  there  among  the  haunts 
of  beauty  in  the  Gadsden  region,  but  the  day  is  not  so 
far  in  the  past  when  journeys  were  difficult.  Yet  every 
bit  of  the  country  for  miles  around  was  explored  during 
the  Civil  War  by  an  iron  founder  who  supplied  much 
of  the  metal  used  for  cannon  and  shot  for  the  Con- 
federate armies.  Once,  with  two  companions,  he  paused 
on  a  hill  overlooking  the  present  site  of  Anniston.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  three  men  stood  in  silence,  rejoicing 
in  the  glorious  prospect  spread  before  them.  Then 
the  iron  founder  spoke,  "If  ever  I  am  able  to  build  a 
town,  this  is  the  spot  I  will  choose. "  His  opportunity 
came  in  1872,  and  Woodstock  was  built.  Later  the 
name  was  changed  to  Anniston,  in  honor  of  the 
founder's  wife  Annie.  It  is  now  one  of  the  outstanding 
cities  of  Alabama's  iron  and  steel  manufactur- 
ing district. 

The  country  to  the  south  of  Anniston  is  not  satis- 
fied with  having  coal  and  iron  in  abundance.  Talladega 
is  not  far  from  gold  deposits  and  is  near  the  edge  of 
what  have  been  called  the  richest  fields  of  graphite  in 
the  United  States.  Mills  for  handling  the  product  are 
plentiful,  and  water-power  developments  on  the  Coosa 
and  the  Tallapoosa  add  zest  to  the  study  of  the  region 

189 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

whether  the  visitor  has  business  or  pleasure  in  mind. 
And  if  he  seeks  to  stand  on  historic  ground,  he  has 
only  to  go  down  to  the  place  in  Chambers  County  where, 
on  the  bank  of  the  Chattahoochee,  the  last  battle  of  the 
Civil  War  in  Alabama  was  fought,  one  week  after 
Appomattox ;  or  to  Cusseta,  in  the  same  county,  where, 
in  1832,  the  Muscogees  concluded  the  treaty  which 
divested  them  of  all  the  lands  left  to  them  in  Alabama ; 
to  Tallassee,  in  Elmore  County,  where  the  Tallassee 
Falls  thundered  in  useless  beauty  until  they  were  har- 
nessed for  near-by  Montgomery's  purposes.  Here  was 
the  site  of  a  walled  Indian  town  where  De  Soto  and  his 
army  lingered  for  many  days. 

Tallassee,  on  the  Tallapoosa,  shares  with  We- 
tumpka, on  the  Coosa,  only  twenty  miles  away  in  the 
same  county,  the  honor  of  participation  in  historic 
events  as  well  as  fame  for  rugged  surroundings.  The 
town  was  in  early  days  an  important  point  for  those 
who  used  the  river  or  the  roads  for  transport  of  iron 
from  the  north.  And  what  a  journey  faced  the  men 
who  sought  Wetumpka  in  flatboats  loaded  with  pig  iron 
and  blooms !  For  many  miles  the  Coosa  is  a  succession 
of  shoals  and  rapids  that  test  the  skill  and  nerve  of 
the  boatman.  The  Weduska  Shoals,  filled  with  great 
rocks  and  islands,  where  the  water  foams  and  thunders, 
while  the  river  narrows  from  three  thousand  feet  to 
less  than  four  hundred  feet;  the  devil's  staircase;  the 
Waxahatchee  Shoals,  with  their  reefs  from  bank  to 
bank  from  one  to  three  feet  high;  the  Butting  Earn 
Shoals,  where  great  rocks  three  and  even  four  hundred 
feet  high  obstruct  the  channel ;  and  at  length  the  Tuck- 
a-league  Shoals  hinder  the  passage  to  Wetumpka,  while 
they  make  the  river  rarely  attractive, 

190 


CONFEDERATE   SOLDIERS     MONUMENT   AND   CAPITOL,    MONTGOMERY,    ALABAMA 


TALLASSEE    FALLS,    ALABAMA 
Harnessed  for  electric  power 


NORTH  AND  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

Over  this  difficult  route  iron  was  floated  for  the  first 
capitol  built  in  Montgomery,  following  the  decision  of 
1846  to  take  the  honor  from  Tuscaloosa  and  give  it  to 
the  town  near  the  point  where  the  Coosa  and  the  Talla- 
poosa  unite  to  form  the  Alabama.  When  a  place  was 
ready  to  receive  them  the  state  archives  were  taken 
overland  from  the  retiring  capital,  thirteen  wagons 
being  required  to  transport  the  one  hundred  and  thir- 
teen boxes.  The  cost  of  the  removal  was  $1325.  There 
is  no  record  of  fear  lest  the  recurrence*  of  thirteen  in 
these  figures  prove  disastrous  to  the  state  or  the 
new  capital! 

At  that  time  Montgomery  had  passed  her  first  youth, 
having  been  founded  as  New  Philadelphia  in  1817.  And 
even  then  the  town  was  remarkable  for  the  beauty  that 
has  increased  with  the  years.  The  old  Capitol  is  the 
central  feature  in  the  group  on  Capitol  Hill,  looking 
down  on  Dexter  Avenue.  In  this  building  the  Confed- 
eracy was  born  on  February  4,  1861,  and  Jefferson 
Davis  was  inaugurated.  From  the  hill  as  a  center  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  splendid  highways  lead  away  to  points 
of  interest  in  the  country,  including  old  Fort  Toulouse, 
fourteen  miles  away,  near  Wetumpka,  founded  by  the 
French  in  1714,  abandoned  by  the  British  in  1764,  re- 
paired by  Andrew  Jackson  in  his  wars  with  the  Indians, 
and  later  suffered  to  fall  into  ruins  until  hardly  a  trace 
of  it  is  left.  But  the  attractive  site  is  important  because 
it  marks  the  point  farthest  inland  reached  by  the 
French  in  their  approach  toward  the  English  colonies 
on  the  Atlantic  coast. 

Montgomery  is  near  neighbor  to  the  first  capital  of 
the  state,  Cahaba,  on  the  Alabama,  a  town  built  on  the 
site  of  the  Indian  village  Piachee,  where  Tuscaloosa 

191 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

attacked  De  Soto  when  he  was  on  his  way  through  Ala- 
bama to  Pensacola.  An  early  resident  of  Cahaba  was 
William  Rufus  King,  who  later  became  a  Vice-Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  after  laying  out,  ten  miles 
away,  a  town  which  he  called  Selma,  for  the  ancient 
capital  of  Fingal ;  he  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  poems 
of  Ossian,  which  emphasized  the  name  and  fame  of  old 
Selma.  Cahaba  has  disappeared,  except  for  a  few  scat- 
tered ruins,  but  Selma  has  flourished  from  the  begin- 
ning. During  the  Civil  War  the  town  was  proudly 
called  "the  Pittsburgh  of  the  South";  mines  and 
forges,  mills  and  foundries  there  were  pushed  to  the 
limit.  An  arsenal  and  a  naval  foundry  were  in  the  town. 
No  wonder  the  Federal  forces  strove  to  capture  it,  while 
the  Confederate  generals  agreed  that  they  must  defend 
it  at  all  costs.  To-day  the  city  is  one  of  the  first  cotton 
markets  of  the  South. 

It  is  pleasant  to  visit  scenes  like  these,  made  famous 
in  the  early  history  of  our  own  country,  and  every  year 
travelers  go  up  and  down  the  Alabama  River  on  his- 
toric pilgrimage.  But  opportunity  is  afforded  also 
for  the  investigation  of  those  whose  interest  goes  back 
of  the  early  American  settlers,  back  of  the  British  and 
the  French,  even  back  of  the  Indian,  to  the  ruins  of 
prehistoric  dwellers  on  the  heights  above  the  river. 
For,  on  the  way  from  Selma  to  Mobile,  scientists  have 
uncovered  many  mounds  built  by  a  long-forgotten  race. 
One  of  the  most  satisfactory  of  these  mounds  was  at 
Durand's  Bend,  in  Dallas  County.  In  1886  a  flood  cut 
across  a  narrow  neck  of  land  and  laid  bare  indications 
of  the  aborigines.  Following  the  flood  curious  visitors 
found  and  carried  away  many  vessels  and  implements 
until  the  owner  of  the  plantation  put  a  stop  to  their 
102 


NORTH  AND  SOUTH  IN  ALABAMA 

researches,  in  the  interest  of  science.  But  when  the 
Government  scientists  appeared  he  put  his  property  at 
their  disposal. 

During  their  stay  they  succeeded  in  uncovering 
numerous  burial  urns.  These  were  more  or  less 
cracked,  and  the  cracks,  as  the  vessels  dried  and  con- 
tracted, tended  to  widen.  Moreover,  many  of  these  ves- 
sels, through  long  exposure  to  moisture,  were  soft.  In 
every  case  the  scientists  dug  carefully  around  the  ves- 
sels and,  brushing  aside  the  earth  from  them,  permitted 
them  to  harden  in  the  sun,  at  the  same  time  applying 
a  quick-setting  cement  between  the  margins  of  the 
cracks.  Before  lifting,  when  the  state  of  the  vessels 
required  it,  stout  cotton  bandages  tightened  by  tourni- 
quets were  adjusted,  and  these  bandages  were  allowed 
to  remain  in  place  till  the  urns  had  made  the  journey 
north.  Visitors  to  the  Academy  of  Natural  Science  in 
Philadelphia  can  study  these  vessels. 

The  counties  along  the  Alabama  are  not  only  rich 
in  mounds  that  tell  of  the  past.  They  are  rich  in  lands 
that  help  the  state  retain  its  place  among  the  great 
cotton-growing  territories  of  the  South.  And  this  it 
has  done  by  the  presence,  in  former  days  and  in  later 
days  as  well,  of  men  and  women  of  heroic  mold  like 
those  who,  in  1799,  applied  to  the  commandant  of  Fort 
Stoddard  on  the  Tombigbee  to  be  married.  His  re- 
sponse is  a  tradition  in  lower  Alabama:  "I,  Captain 
Shaumberg,  of  the  Second  Regiment  of  the  United 
States  Army  and  -Commandant  of  Fort  Stoddard,  do 
here  pronounce  you  man  and  wife.  Go  home,  behave 
yourselves,  multiply,  and  replenish  the  Tensaw 
country."  They  obeyed,  doing  their  best,  it  is  said, 
to  develop  the  state. 
13 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  BIRMINGHAM'S 
RED  MOUNTAIN 

THE   traveler  who   feels   that  he  must  pass 
through  Birmingham  without  a  pause  is  to  be 
pitied  profoundly.    It  is  difficult  to  resist  the 
Iron  City  in  its  framework  of  hills  that  are  almost 
mountains,  with  its  invitation  to  stop  and  roam  the 
broad  streets,  climb  the  encircling  heights  and  take  a 
peep  at  the  steel  mills. 

The  first  hasty  tour  of  the  combination  Pittsburgh 
and  Seattle  of  the  South  is  apt  to  result  in  self-con- 
gratulations that  the  stop  was  possible.  For  here  is  a 
city,  not  yet  fifty  years  old,  whose  modern  development 
dates  back  less  than  twenty  years,  from  the  time  when 
men  of  vision  began  to  succeed  in  impressing  on  others 
their  belief  that  Alabama  is  ' '  the  coming  center  of  the 
iron  and  steel  industry  of  America,  while  its  Birming- 
ham district  is  the  ultimate  rival  of  the  Pittsburgh  dis- 
trict." Gadsden,  Anniston  and  Sheffield  are  other  iron 
centers,  but  Birmingham  is  the  greatest  of  them  all, 
and  when  the  completion  of  the  project  for  a  canal  to 
the  Warrior  Eiver  makes  real  the  dream  of  water  trans- 
portation all  the  way  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  the  city  will 
become  even  greater. 

The  vision  of  other  days  bids  fair  to  become  reality, 
though  it  was  an  ambitious  vision :  ' '  For  twenty  miles 
the  hilltops  covered  with  homes  and  the  narrow  valley 
between  crowded  with  furnaces  and  factories  and  the 
sundry  physical  embodiments  of  industry  and  traffic." 

194 


BIRMINGHAM'S    RED    MOUNTAIN 

The  value  of  vision  in  city  building  is  evident  in 
Birmingham.  Many  streets  were  wide  originally,  but 
others  were  narrow.  With  full  knowledge  that  a  great 
city  needs  broad  streets,  years  ago  plans  were  made 
and  carried  out  for  the  broadening  of  narrow  ways 
even  when  this  required  the  moving  of  great  buildings. 
The  Birmingham  booster  and  the  Birmingham,  visitor 
join  in  praising  those  who  performed  the  titan  task. 

From  the  broad  streets  in  the  center  of  the  city  the 
route  over  graceful  Rainbow  Viaduct — named  in  honor 
of  the  boys  who  served  in  the  Great  War — leads 
through  the  Five  Points  residence  district  up  the  wind- 
ing way  of  Bed  Mountain,  whose  summit  is  only  two 
miles  from  the  heart  of  town.  No  wonder  they  talk 
of  the  view  from  this  point  of  vantage !  Far  below  lies 
the  city,  spread  out  like  a  chessboard,  outlined  as  from 
an  aeroplane.  Beyond  are  the  hills  that  rim  the  valley 
on  the  other  side.  Backward  the  Montgomery  Highway 
leads  across  the  higher  Shades  Mountain,  five  miles 
distant.  To  the  right  is  Milner  Heights,  practically  a 
continuation  of  Red  Mountain,  the  highest  point  in  the 
city,  and  below  the  Heights  the  Country  Club  has  an 
advantageous  location.  Think  of  a  full-fledged  golf 
links  on  a  height  within  two  miles  of  the  court-house ! 

From  the  height  the  furnaces  of  Ensley,  "the  back- 
bone of  Birmingham,"  insist  on  having  attention,  espe- 
cially at  night,  when  the  sky  is  brilliantly  illumined  by 
pyrotechnics  that  outdo  the  best  efforts  of  the  masters 
of  fireworks.  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  even  two 
miles  away  to  enjoy  the  spectacle;  from  a  viaduct  that 
is  close  to  the  center  of  the  city  the  vision  is  ready  for 
all  who  will  see  it. 

Nor  is  it  necessary  to  go  to  all  these  points  of  inter- 

195 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

est  to  discover  their  relation  one  to  another  and  to  ap- 
preciate the  advantages  of  Birmingham's  location;  the 
view  from  Eed  Mountain  tells  what  there  is  below. 
And  to  Red  Mountain  the  proud  resident  of  Birming- 
ham likes  to  take  visitors,  not  only  because  of  the  view, 
but  because  its  story  is  inextricably  bound  up  with  the 
romance  of  the  city's  beginning  and  progress. 

Eed  Mountain  is  but  a  section  of  a  hundred-mile 
range  of  iron  ore  whose  history  has  been  one  long  epic. 
The  Indians  used  to  make  journeys  thither  in  search  of 
the  pigment  for  their  brilliant  warpaint,  as  well  as  for 
the  dyes  for  their  resplendent  robes.  In  1813  two  hardy 
mountaineers  crossed  the  mountain,  built  their  cabins 
in  the  valley  and  began  to  cultivate  the  land.  It  is  said 
that  these  men,  or  some  of  their  early  successors, 
thought  of  the  rock  on  Eed  Mountain  as  good  for  dye- 
ing- breeches,  but  little  else.  Yet  when  the  increasing 
traffic  over  the  mountain  to  and  from  the  North  ground 
the  rocks  into  fine  red  powder  the  knowing  ones  began 
to  whisper  that  here  were  riches  that  would  make  the 
country  great.  In  1833  Frank  Gilmer,  a  young  fron- 
tiersman from  Georgia,  filled  his  pocket  with  the  curi- 
ous rocks  to  learn  later  that  he  had  been  riding  over 
a  fortune.  Then  began  his  dream  of  a  railroad  to  tap 
this  rich  country,  a  dream  remembered  through  years 
of  struggle. 

Twenty-five  years  later  John  T.  Milner,  an  engineer 
from  Georgia,  rode  along  the  top  of  the  mountain  of 
ore  and  had  his  vision  of  a  great  city  to  be  built  in  that 
valley.  "This  valley  was  well  cultivated  then,"  he 
said  in  1889.  "I  had  before  travelled  all  over  the 
United  States.  I  had  seen  the  great  and  rich  valleys  of 
the  Pacific  Coast,  but  nowhere  had  I  seen  an  agricul- 
196 


BIRMINGHAM'S   RED    MOUNTAIN 

tural  people  so  perfectly  provided  for  and  so  com- 
pletely happy.  They  raised  everything  they  required 
to  eat  and  sold  thousands  of  bushels  of  wheat.  Their 
settlements  were  around  their  beautiful  clear  running 
streams  found  gushing  out  everywhere  in  the  valley." 

It  was  Milner  who  began  to  carry  out  Gilmer's 
dream  of  1833,  and  Gilmer  was  the  first  president  of 
the  railroad  Milner  built.  What  a  road  it  was !  The 
state  was  poor,  and  appropriations  were  meager. 
Therefore,  the  steel  highway  was  ordered  built  "as 
cheaply  as  a  railroad  could  be  built  and  more  cheaply 
if  possible."  The  result  was  an  eerie  combination  of 
steep  grades,  awful  curves,  log  trestles  and  other 
money-saving  devices.  But  the  railroad  was  built  and 
was  completed  into  the  mineral  region  when  the  war 
between  the  states  put  a  stop  to  construction.  But 
enough  had  been  done  to  make  available  iron  and  coal 
for  the  remarkable  creation  of  the  iron  industry  of  the 
South  that  did  much  to  prolong  the  war. 

Less  than  six  years  after  the  war  the  second  of  the 
dreams  of  Eed  Mountain  pioneers  came  true.  Birming- 
ham was  born  early  in  1871.  The  infant  escaped  being 
called  Powelltown,  or  Milnerville,  Morrisville,  and  even 
Muddville.  The  proposition  was  then  made  to  name  it 
after  "the  seat  of  iron  manufacture  in  the  mother 
country,  the  best  workshop  town  in  all  England." 

Yet  no  one  had  the  remotest  idea  that  the  settle- 
ment so  ambitiously  named  could  ever  claim  to  be  a 
real  brother  to  the  English  Birmingham.  "I  had  no 
conception  of  its  present  grandeur,  nor  did  any  one 
else,"  Milner  wrote  in  1886,  "for  the  minerals  which 
gave  value  to  Birmingham  and  the  country  surround- 
ing it  were  not  developed  until  1879. ' ' 

197 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

In  the  early  days  of  the  town  there  was  a  great 
rabbit  drive  in  the  swamp  near  what  is  now  Powell 
Avenue.  For  some  years  the  place  was  "  little  better 
than  a  graveyard,"  it  has  been  said;  it  was  long  on 
the  verge  of  collapse.  There  were  two  railroads,  but 
cattle  grazed  on  the  tracks.  "Although  millions  of  tons 
of  iron  ore  flaunted  wine-red  in  the  very  face  of  the 
town,  Eed  Mountain  served  as  but  fruit  to  Tantalus," 
a  local  historian  has  written.  "Although  two  furnaces 
in  Shades  Valley  had  made  brave  trial,  neither  had  been 
able  to  carry  its  own  weight,  much  less  lend  aid  to  the 
struggling  town." 

"Coal!  Coal!  Give  us  cheap  coal!"  was  the  de- 
spairing plea  of  the  men  of  the  Birmingham  of  these 
early  days. 

The  man  who  answered  the  cry  was  William  L. 
Goold,  a  Scotchman,  who,  when  he  said  to  his  bride- 
to-be  that  he  proposed  to  emigrate,  heard  her  reply, 
"Very  well,  William,  you  can  go  to  Australia,  if  you 
like,  and  you  can  get  you  an  Australian  wife.  I  winna 
leave  Scotland.  So  I  will  stay  and  get  me  a  Scotch 
husband."  William  did  not  go  to  Australia,  but  he 
came  later  to  America — after  he  had  married  Jeannie. 
He  reached  Alabama  in  1854,  and  twenty-one  years  later 
he  opened  up  the  first  mine  in  the  great  Warrior  coal 
fields  of  Walker,  the  county  adjoining  Jefferson,  of 
which  Birmingham  had  been  county  seat  since  1873. 

The  story  of  the  discovery  is  real  romance,  like  all 
of  the  story  of  Birmingham.  Goold,  when  a  cotton 
broker  in  Selma,  "went  busted,"  to  use  his  own  word. 
Then  he  tried  coal,  his  old  business.  Again  he  failed. 
Next  he  tried  coal  mining.  "Not  one  dollar  did  I  have, 
and  I  dug  night  and  day  in  the  Warrior  field,  some- 

198 


CRESCENT    AVENUE,    BIRMINGHAM,    ALABAMA 


FIRST    AVENUE.    BIRMINGHAM,    ALABAMA 


BIRMINGHAM'S   RED    MOUNTAIN 

times  without  food,  for  over  two  months, ' '  he  has  writ- 
ten. "Then  one  day  I  struck  a  seam  that  made  my 
heart  thump  for  the  thickness  of  it. ' ' 

The  discovery  was  the  making  of  Birmingham,  but, 
unfortunately,  Goold  died  a  poor  man. 

This  was  the  last  of  nature 's  secrets  necessary  to  the 
development  of  the  Pittsburgh  of  the  South — iron  ore, 
coal  and  limestone  had  all  been  found,  and  all  these 
materials,  essential  to  the  production  of  pig  iron  and 
steel  were  so  close  together  that  the  expense  of  trans- 
portation was  a  minor  matter. 

Birmingham  went  ahead  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
There  were  years  of  real  progress,  and  there  were  times 
of  mad  speculation,  as  in  1 886,  when  Jones  Valley  lands 
went  sky-rocketing.  Witness  a  local  historian: 

"Upon  street  corners,  in  hotel  corridors  and  in 
private  parlors,  the  one  theme  of  conversation  was  real 
estate  speculation;  young  and  old,  male  and  female, 
merchant  and  clerk,  minister  and  layman — everybody 
seemed  seized  with  a  desire  to  speculate  in  town  lots. 
Conservative  citizens,  who  in  the  early  stages  wisely 
shook  their  heads  and  predicted  disaster  to  purchasers 
of  property  as  prices  climbed  higher  and  still  higher, 
with  scarcely  a  single  exception,  ceased  to  bear  the 
market,  and  when  prices  had  advanced  two  or  three 
hundred  per  cent,  above  what  they  thought  to  be  ex- 
travagant, entered  the  market,  bought  property,  and 
joined  the  great  army  of  boomers.  Wilder  and  wilder 
the  excitement  grew.  Stranger  and  resident  alike 
plunged  into  the  market,  hoping  to  gather  in  a  portion 
of  the  golden  shower  which  was  now  falling  in  glisten- 
ing sheets  upon  the  Magic  City.  ...  In  many  in- 
stances the  purchaser  would  seize  his  receipt  and  rush 

199 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

out  in  the  street  and  resell  the  property  at  a  handsome 
profit  before  his  bond  for  title  could  be  executed." 

During  the  years  of  real  estate  excitement  the  town 
of  Ensley  was  founded  on  four  thousand  acres  of  land 
"rough  and  sterile,  full  of  scrubby  pines  and  black- 
jack, ' '  six  miles  west  of  Birmingham.  There  have  been 
written  in  legends  of  leaping  flames  more  of  the  rec- 
ords of  Birmingham  greatness.  For  Birmingham  has 
reached  out  strong  arms  and  encircled  Ensley,  so  that 
the  younger  city's  belching  fires  and  flowing  furnaces 
are  claimed  by  the  city  over  which  Eed  Mountain  keeps 
vigilant  guard;  she  has  fallen  heir  to  the  greatness 
made  possible  by  one  of  the  fearless  acts  of  President 
Eoosevelt  when,  in  the  trying  days  of  1907,  a  word  from 
him  saved  the  Tennessee  Coal  and  Iron  Company  from 
failure  and  a  whole  district  from  suffering. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THROUGH  TENNESSEE  AND  NORTH  ALABAMA 
BY  RIVER 

"T  "TOW  is  it  possible  to  see  Tennessee  by  river?" 

I      I    is  probably  the  question  that  occurs  to  nine 

•*-   -••  readers  out  of  ten.    They  agree  at  once  that 

it  is  quite  possible  to  travel  along  the  winding  western 

border  of  the  state  by  the  Mississippi  Eiver.     "But 

that  is  not  seeing  the  state,"  they  object. 

No,  but  the  Mississippi  traveler  makes  a  good  be- 
ginning. If  he  is  journeying  from  the  south,  he  comes 
very  soon  to  Memphis,  the  glorious  city  on  the  bluffs 
which  contests  with  Tunica  County,  Mississippi,  the 
site  from  which  Fernando  de  Soto  first  saw  the  Missis- 
sippi in  May,  1541. 

The  city  dates  back  to  1734,  when  Fort  Assumption 
was  built  by  France,  but  the  real  beginnings  of  this 
greatest  metropolis  of  the  Mississippi  Valley  between 
St.  Louis  and  New  Orleans  were  so  much  later  that  in 
1819  there  were  exactly  fifty-three  inhabitants  in  the 
place.  Yet  now  its  proud  citizens  call  it  the  Queen 
City  of  the  Valley,  the  Gateway  of  the  South,  the  City 
Magnificent,  the  City  Wonderful.  Visitors  will  agree 
that  the  giving  of  these  names  is  justified,  after  walking 
to  the  levee  where  cotton  bales  by  the  thousand  await 
transportation  by  the  steamers  that  ply  up  and  down 
the  stream;  after  looking  across  to  the  fertile  St. 
Francis  Basin  in  Arkansas,  and  north  to  the  graceful 

201 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

bend,  noteworthy  among  lovers  of  river  scenery;  after 
standing  in  Court  Square,  in  the  heart  of  the  business 
district,  or  riding  to  some  of  the  beautiful  parks  that 
enable  Memphians  to  boast  that  they  have  the  finest 
park  system  in  the  South ;  after  gazing  in  admiration  at 
the  Shelby  County  Court  House,  whose  chaste  classic 
lines  are  the  admiration  of  lovers  of  art ;  after  securing 
satisfying  glimpses  of  the  rich  home  life  without  which 
the  ever-growing  industrial  life  would  be  powerless  to 
make  the  city  really  great. 

The  Chamber  of  Commerce  likes  to  use  still  another 
name — ' '  the  Most  Accessible  City. ' '  To  prove  that  this 
name  also  is  properly  bestowed,  there  is  displayed 
prominently  in  the  literature  of  the  Chamber  a  map  of 
the  United  States,  with  lines  radiating  to  all  cities  from 
Memphis  as  a  center.  That  map  has  a  strangely  fa- 
miliar look  to  those  who  are  accustomed  to  the  booklets 
issued  by  at  least  a  dozen  other  cities  in  the  South; 
each  of  these  makes  a  different  city  the  center  of  a  circle 
that  shows  it  to  be  the  most  accessible  city  to  its  terri- 
tory! And  why  not?  Shall  not  a  man's  home  city  be 
the  center  of  the  universe? 

Above  Memphis  the  stream  pushes  its  way  between 
banks  that  are  now  bluffs,  now  low-lying  alluvial  land 
that  slopes  gently  upward  to  the  uplands  of  Western 
Tennessee,  around  bends  where  the  river  folds  in  on 
itself  in  astonishing  fashion,  up  to  the  point  where 
Arkansas  on  the  west  gives  place  to  Missouri,  and  then 
past  lands  in  both  Missouri  and  Tennessee  that  still 
show  grim  reminders  of  the  great  earthquake  of  1811. 
The  Reelf  oot  Lake  district  in  Northwest  Tennesse  was 
formed  during  that  period,  when  the  New  Orleans, 
first  steamer  on  these  waters,  moored  to  an  island 
202 


COURT    HOUSE,    MEMPHIS,    TENNESSEE 


CREST    ROAD    ALONG    MISSIONARY    RIDGE,    CHATTANOOGA,    TENNESSEE 
Illinois  Monument  in  foreground 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE   BY  RIVER 

for  the  night,  was  turned  adrift  by  the  disappearance 
of  the  anchorage. 

Even  to-day  islands  have  a  fashion  of  disappearing 
as  the  mighty  river  changes  its  channel  overnight,  de- 
ciding perhaps  to  wander  a  few  miles  into  what  was  the 
interior  of  the  state. 

By  this  time  Tennessee  has  been  left  behind,  and 
Kentucky  spreads  out  on  the  right.  But  those  who  wish 
to  see  more  of  the  state  of  Andrew  Jackson  need  only 
retain  their  composure  until  the  steamer  passes  Cairo, 
ascends  the  Ohio  to  Paducah,  and  then  turns  into  the 
inviting  Tennessee  River.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  though, 
no  Memphis  steamer  is  apt  to  include  the  Tennessee 
River  in  its  wanderings;  a  change  must  be  made  at 
Paducah  for  the  boat  that  comes  down  from  St.  Louis 
with  its  passengers  who  have  responded  to  the  lure 
of  a  trip  on  the  river  at  an  absurdly  low  price.  Time 
was  when  the  figure  was  only  ten  dollars  for  a  week's 
journey  from  St.  Louis  to  Waterloo,  Alabama,  and 
return.  But  that  time  has  passed,  probably  never 
to  return. 

But  the  trip  is  well  worth  the  advanced  rates,  for 
there  is  no  trip  like  this  on  any  of  the  tributaries  of  the 
Ohio  or  the  Mississippi.  First  across  the  western  end 
of  Kentucky,  then  from  north  to  south  directly  across 
Tennessee,  sometimes  through  low,  swampy  land,  again 
by  bluffs  that  rise  abruptly  from  the  water.  Popula- 
tion is  sparse,  though  the  leisurely  traveler  feels  no 
lack  of  interest  as  the  boat  coughs  its  way  up  to  land- 
ings where  there  is  a  straggling  town  to  be  served  or 
merely  a  warehouse  falling  into  decay.  Once  the  pause 
may  be  to  permit  the  roustabouts  to  go  up  the  hill  after 
a  dozen  razor-back  shoats,  which  they  bring  aboard 

203 


SEEING   THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

with  a  triumphant  grin,  two  men  to  a  protesting  porker, 
each  of  them  having  hold  of  two  legs.  The  smiles  be- 
come broader  still  if  the  load  to  be  brought  aboard  is  a 
few  hundred  sacks  of  "goobers,"  which  will  leave  on 
the  lower  deck  enough  flotsam  to  permit  the  roustabouts 
to  munch  to  their  hearts '  content. 

The  happy-go-lucky  roustabout  frequently  tried  be- 
yond endurance  the  patience  of  the  mate.  Once  the 
steamer  tied  up  at  a  bluff  where  a  lot  of  piling  was  to 
be  taken  on  board.  The  bluff  sloped  rapidly  away  from 
the  summit,  and  the  logs  had  to  be  pushed  up  the  slope 
before  they  could  be  rolled  on  the  deck.  A  dozen  logs 
had  been  sent  triumphantly  on  their  way,  when  one 
with  a  great  knot  that  prevented  easy  rolling  delayed 
the  game.  Long  and  earnestly  the  negroes  toiled  with 
this  log.  They  had  succeeded  in  approaching  within 
a  foot  of  the  top  of  the  slope  when  the  bell  rang  for 
the  roustabouts '  supper ;  straightway  the  three  negroes 
dropped  their  peaveys  and  allowed  the  log  to  roll  down 
the  hill.  "What  did  you  do  that  for!"  the  mate  asked, 
too  much  surprised  even  to  swear.  "It  was  time  for 
supper,  boss,"  was  the  reply  that  restored  to  him  the 
power  of  speech  that  was  more  explosive  than  elegant. 

The  river  roustabout  is  a  study — especially  when, 
on  the  last  day  of  the  voyage,  he  is  given  his  week's 
earnings.  At  once  the  lower  deck  takes  on  new  life. 
Shouting,  gesticulating  negroes  proceed  to  gamble 
away  in  a  few  moments  the  dollars  they  have  earned 
through  many  days.  One  by  one  they  become  silent 
and  slink  away  to  an  out-of-the-way  corner  where  they 
will  mope  until  some  little  incident  restores  their 
spirits ;  then  they  are  as  gay  as  ever. 

But  not  all  the  roustabouts  are  gamblers.    A  pas- 

204 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE  BY  RIVER 

senger  noted  a  negro  who  held  aloof  from  the  gambling 
melee  and  asked  him  the  reason.  * '  I  'se  got  a  home,  and 
a  wife  and  a  boy,"  he  replied.  "Why,  boss,  when  I  gits 
dar  to-night,  that  boy '11  be  waitin'  for  me.  He's  a 
lookin'  for  a  pair  o'  shoes,  but  he  sort  o'  looks  for  his 
ole  man,  too.  There'll  be  some  holiday  'bout  that  joint 
in  the  mornin',  I'm  tellin'  yo'.  I'll  be  some  sleepy,  but 
there  won 't  be  no  sleep  for  me  till  the  kid  gets  his  fill 
o'  maulin'  me.  'Bout  Satu'day  I'll  be  on  the  move 
once  mo';  there'll  be  somethin'  more  needed  at  home. 
No,  sah,  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  these  niggahs' 
triflin'  ways!" 

"Way  passengers  also  add  to  the  day's  humor.  They 
mingle  with  the  through  passengers,  and  have  no  hesi- 
tation in  joining  in  the  conversation.  One  tourist  from 
the  city,  who  had  been  reading  a  novel,  noted  the  shak- 
ing head  of  a  bearded  man  who  had  been  talking  to 
others  since  his  arrival  on  board  fifteen  miles  before. 
At  length  the  man  drew  his  chair  alongside  the  novel 
reader.  "Mister,  they  tell  me  yo'  are  a  preacher.  Yo' 
say  it 's  true  ?  Well,  Mister,  what  be  yo '  doin '  with  that 
unholy  book  in  yo'  hand?  Don't  you  know  a  nov-ell  is 
one  of  the  traps  of  Satan?" 

There  is  not  much  time  for  novels  when  the  boat 
snubs  into  the  mud  bank  at  Pittsburg  Landing,  and  the 
captain  announces  that  those  who  want  to  see  Shiloh 
battle-field  have  half  an  hour  to  make  the  short  trip  up 
the  bank  and  along  the  woods  road  to  the  scene  of  one  of 
the  most  hotly  contested  battles  of  the  Civil  War.  Here 
is  now  a  National  Military  Park  and  Cemetery,  in  the 
midst  of  a  forest  almost  untouched.  The  half  hour 
gives  opportunity  only  for  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the 
forest  park  with  its  hundreds  of  monuments  and  mark- 

205 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

ers  and  its  miles  of  well-built  roads  that  lead  to  the 
Hornet's  Nest,  the  Bloody  Pond,  the  Peach  Orchard, 
and  other  spots  made  famous  on  that  awful  day  in  1862 
when  the  forces  of  Grant  opposed  those  of  Albert  Sid- 
ney Johnston  until  that  leader  was  killed,  and  his  suc- 
cessor,- General  Beauregard,  decided  to  withdraw  from 
the  field. 

Not  far  from  Pittsburg  Landing  the  Tennessee  line 
is  crossed,  and  the  boat  passes  to  that  long,  graceful 
sweep  of  the  river  through  the  entire  northern  part 
of  Alabama,  where  the  blue-grass  lands  of  the  Ten- 
nessee Valley  yield  so  generously. 

Soon  the  boat  comes  to  famous  Muscle  Shoals,  long 
considered  a  barrier  to  steamboat  navigation  above  and 
below.  But  falls  and  rapids  have  been  conquered, 
though  not  completely,  by  canals  and  locks,  and  much 
of  the  power  so  prodigally  provided  has  been  har- 
nessed. The  latest  industry  is  the  nitrate  plant,  where 
provision  is  made  for  farmers  who  want  to  be  indepen- 
dent of  foreign  products. 

The  story  of  the  conquest  is  inspiring.  The  first 
attempt  was  made  after  the  gift  made  by  Congress  in 
1831  to  the  State  of  Alabama  of  400,000  acres  of  public 
lands  which  were  to  be  sold  and  much  of  the  proceeds 
devoted  to  the  canals  at  and  near  Muscle  Shoals. 

The  first  Muscle  Shoals  canal  was  a  marvel  in  that 
day.  Each  of  the  seventeen  locks  was  120  feet  long 
by  32  feet  wide.  The  total  lift  of  these  locks  was  85 
feet.  Yet  comparatively  few  vessels  passed  through 
the  canal  because  of  the  shoals  above  it,  where  no  pro- 
vision had  been  made  for  canals.  After  1837  it  was 
no  longer  used.  A  local  historian  say  that  * '  the  wooden 
gates  with  which  the  locks  were  equipped  soon  decayed, 

206 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE   BY  RIVER 

rain  and  flood  played  havoc  with  the  embankments,  and 
the  channel  filled  with  mud,  supplying  a  flourishing 
growth  of  willows  and  cottonwood. ' ' 

For  years  many  of  those  who  lived  in  the  beautiful 
country  tributary  to  the  Shoals  urged  upon  Congress 
the  necessity  of  making  the  river  passable  at  this  point, 
but  until  1871  the  pleas  fell  on  deaf  ears.  Then  ap- 
propriation was  made  for  a  series  of  new  waterways. 
Some  of  these  have  been  constructed,  but  they  are  en- 
tirely inadequate  to  the  demands  of  the  river.  Only  a 
small  percentage  of  the  traffic  above  and  below  the 
canals  is  able  to  make  use  of  them.  The  passage  is 
slow  but  most  interesting  to  one  who  can  take  time 
to  enjoy  it.  A  light-draft  steamer  is  able  to  pass  the 
twenty-four-mile  stretch  at  the  Shoals  in  a  little  less 
than  twelve  hours — that  is,  if  the  water  is  high !  Some 
day  there  will  be  more  adequate  provision  for  the  traffic 
that  clamors  loudly  for  accommodation. 

The  region  of  the  Shoals  is  rapidly  becoming  one  of 
the  busiest  manufacturing  centers  in  the  country  by 
reason  of  the  harnessing  of  the  immense  water  power 
of  the  river.  Three  dams  in  all  are  in  the  plan,  and 
two  of  them  will,  ere  long,  be  numbered  among  the 
world's  greatest  power  dams.  One  of  them  is  104  feet 
long  and  4500  feet  wide.  Together  with  the  power- 
house, it  contains  nearly  four  times  as  much  concrete 
as  the  Roosevelt  dam  on  Salt  River  in  Arizona.  The 
third  dam  is  to  be  nearly  two  thousand  feet  longer  than 
its  great  neighbor. 

By  means  of  these  dams  and  their  power-houses 
energy  is  provided  for  great  manufacturing  establish- 
ments, including  two  nitrate  plants,  planned  by  the 
Government  that  America  may  be  relieved  of  the  neces- 

207 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

sity  of  depending  for  nitrate  on  foreign  sources, 
whether  for  gunpowder  or  for  fertilizer. 

The  day  is  coming  when  here  on  the  Tennessee  in 
Northwest  Alabama  will  be  the  Niagara  of  the  South. 
At  Muscle  Shoals  power  can  be  developed  much  more 
cheaply  than  at  Niagara,  and  the  possibilities  are  said 
to  be  greater. 

The  miles  of  river  from  Muscle  Shoals  to  Chatta- 
nooga have  been  famous  since  the  days  of  the  pioneers. 
The  Shoals  are  the  beginning  of  navigation  difficulties 
that  extended  most  of  the  way.  At  one  place  there  was 
what  was  called  "The  Suck,"  where,  as  Indian  tradi- 
tions relate,  a  war  party  of  lichees,  bound  for  the  mouth 
of  the  Ohio  to  fight  the  Shawnees,  were  engulfed.  Then 
come  whirlpools  innumerable,  until  the  mountains 
about  Chattanooga  appear.  An  early  traveler  told 
with  amazement  of  his  experience  from  the  time  the 
river  entered  Alabama  from  Eastern  Tennessee : 

"At  the  Great  Look  Out  of  Chattanooga  Mountain 
commences  a  series  of  rapids,  where,  in  its  tortuous 
windings  along  the  base  of  several  mountain  ranges, 
the  Tennessee  Eiver  contracts  into  a  narrow  channel, 
hemmed  in  by  the  projecting  cliff  and  towering  preci- 
pices of  solid  stone,  dashes,  with  tremendous  violence 
from  shore  to  shore,  creating,  in  its  rapid  descent,  a 
succession  of  cataracts  and  vortices." 

This  difficult  piece  of  river  was  made  more  terrible 
to  the  pioneers  who  floated  down  stream  from  the  North 
Carolina  rivers  by  the  operations  of  a  band  of  out- 
laws, renegade  Indians  and  desperate  white  men,  who 
were  wont  to  attack  the  boats  and  carry  off  booty  and 
prisoners  to  their  refuge  in  Nicajac  Cave,  in  Cumber- 
land Mountain,  about  thirty-six  miles  below  Chatta- 

208 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE   BY  RIVER 

nooga,  which  opens  from  the  river.  In  the  four  or  five 
miles  of  passage  there  was  ample  room  for  hiding. 

For  five  years,  from  1774  to  1779,  the  operations  of 
these  "Barbary  Pirates  of  the  West"  continued,  until 
troops  from  North  Carolina  and  Virginia  surprised  the 
outlaws  and  broke  up  the  band. 

They  were  still  active,  however,  in  March,  1779, 
when  Colonel  John  Donelson  conducted  a  party  through 
this  dangerous  bit  of  river,  in  the  course  of  what  has 
been  called  one  of  the  most  remarkable  achievements  in 
the  settlement  of  the  West.  The  start  was  made  from 
Fort  Patrick  Henry  in  Virginia.  After  reaching  the 
Holston,  he  went  down  the  stream,  then  down  the  Ten- 
nessee. On  March  8,  1779,  the  company  was  pursued 
by  Indians,  who  rode  on  the  bank,  until  Cumberland 
Mountain  interfered  with  the  progress  of  the  savages. 
There,  in  the  narrowest  part  of  the  stream,  called  the 
"boiling  pot,"  one  canoe  overturned.  Others  stopped 
to  help  the  unfortunate  navigator.  Just  then  the  out- 
laws appeared  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  began  to  fire 
on  them  from  above.  All  managed  to  escape,  except 
the  company  of  Jonathan  Jenings,  whose  boat  ran  on 
a  rock.  Fortunately,  some  in  the  boat  escaped,  but 
others  were  captured  and  tortured  by  the  Indians. 

The  heroic  leader  took  his  little  flotilla  down  the 
river  all  the  way  to  the  Ohio,  which  was  in  flood.  Prog- 
ress upstream  was  so  difficult  that  some  decided  to 
float  down  to  Natchez.  But  the  leader  kept  on  his  way, 
in  accordance  with  his  promise  to  James  Robertson, 
who  had  gone  overland.  At  last  he  managed  to  reach 
the  mouth  of  the  Cumberland,  and  then  ascended  that 
river  which  enters  the  Ohio  only  fifteen  miles  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Tennessee  and  crosses  Kentucky  in  a 

14  209 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

course  that  is  strikingly  parallel  to  that  of  the  larger 
stream,  but  turns  to  the  eastward  soon  after  the  line 
is  crossed  into  Tennessee,  making  a  sweep  back  into 
Kentucky  that  is  again  much  similar  to  the  course  of 
the  Tennessee  through  North  Alabama. 

Five  weeks  after  reaching  the  Ohio,  Donelson  was  at 
the  Great  Salt  Lick,  where  he  met  Robertson,  on  the  site 
of  Nashville.  He  had  traveled  more  than  eight  hun- 
dred miles  by  water  to  keep  his  appointment  with 
Robertson,  who  had  led  two  hundred  pioneers  over 
Boone's  Wilderness  Road  to  the  Cumberland  Valley. 

Robertson  decided  to  lay  out  Nashville — or  Nash- 
borough,  as  it  was  called  at  first — at  the  point  where  the 
French  built  Fort  Assumption  and  where  Indian  trails 
centered.  The  flats  by  the  river  seemed  an  ideal  loca- 
tion. Evidently  the  founder  had  an  eye  also  to  the 
heights  that  look  down  on  the  surrounding  country, 
where  attractive  homes  have  been  built. 

Nashville 's  ancestor,  Nashborough,  was  called  * '  the 
advance  agent  of  western  civilization, ' '  for  it  was  more 
than  six  hundred  miles  from  the  nearest  established 
government.  Hostile  Indians  were  all  about,  but  Rob- 
ertson declared  that  "the  rich  and  beautiful  lands  were 
not  designed  to  be  given  up  to  savages  and  wild  beasts. 
The  God  of  Creation  and  Providence  has  nobler  pur- 
poses in  view. ' '  One  needs  only  to  climb  to  the  cupola 
of  the  State  House  on  its  proud  eminence  not  far  from 
the  heart  of  "the  Athens  of  the  South"  and  look  on  the 
pleasing  buildings,  most  prominent  among  them  being 
the  Parthenon,  which  is  true  to  its  Grecian  name,  then 
on  the  winding  Cumberland,  then  on  the  hills  and  for- 
ests and  valleys  round  about,  to  appreciate  something 
of  his  feeling. 
210 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE  BY  RIVER 

The  city  did  not  become  the  capital  of  the  state  until 
1843,  when  the  changing  center  of  population  called  for 
the  removal  of  the  government  from  the  eastern  part 
of  the  state. 

Gossipy  letters  written  in  1847  said  that  "Nashville 
sounds  louder  at  a  distance  than  when  it  draws  near." 
The  explanation  followed : 

"At  the  distance  of  a  mile  from  the  town  you  see 
a  board  with  a  hand  painted  on  it  as  large  as  life  and 
the  forefinger  pointing  with  the  following  inscription, 
'Look  and  see  the  town !'  Upon  looking  down  the  road 
you  see  the  town,  sure  enough.  It  has  a  beautiful  ap- 
pearance when  seen  from  this  point.  As  you  approach 
it,  you  are  so  much  engrossed  by  its  lofty  looks,  from 
which  it  is  difficult  to  avert  your  eyes,  that  you  would 
be  apt  to  plunge  into  the  narrow  Cumberland,  which 
flows  between  you  and  the  town." 

This  visitor  of  the  early  days  noted  that  "the  citi- 
zens of  Nashville  in  their  dress  and  manners  exhibit 
much  taste  and  opulence. "  To-day  visitors  remark  the 
same  thing,  whether  they  confine  their  observation  to 
the  business  streets  or  go  to  the  residence  section  and 
the  suburbs. 

No  one  wants  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  Nashville 
is  the  city  of  Andrew  Jackson  as  well  as  of  James  K. 
Polk,  and  that  not  far  away  is  The  Hermitage,  the 
shrine  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  Apostle  of  Sim- 
plicity, who  began  to  practice  law  in  the  town  of  James 
Robertson,  in  1788,  when  the  government  of  North 
Carolina  still  spread  its  protecting  arms  over  the  valley 
of  the  Cumberland. 

The  Hermitage  was  long  in  the  possession  of  Ten- 
nessee,but  in  1889  the  property  was  conveyed  to  a  Board 

211 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

of  Trustees,  and  possession  was  given  to  the  Ladies' 
Hermitage  Association.  Every  year  tens  of  thousands 
of  pilgrims  are  the  guests  at  what  Theodore  Roose- 
velt called  '  *  the  home  of  one  of  the  three  or  four  great- 
est presidents  the  nation  has  ever  had." 

Every  room  in  the  mansion  has  its  appeal  to  the 
patriot,  but  the  message  that  comes  with  the  greatest 
force  to  those  who  delight  in  the  Southern  reverence 
for  women  is  received  when  the  time  comes  to  read  the 
inscription  written  by  General  Jackson  for  the  wife  who 
was  so  bitterly  attacked  during  the  political  campaign 
of  1828: 

"Her  face  was  fair,  her  person  pleasing,  her  temper 
amiable,  her  heart  kind.  She  delighted  in  relieving  the 
wants  of  her  fellow-creatures  and  cultivated  that  divine 
pleasure  by  the  most  liberal  and  unpretending  methods ; 
to  the  poor  she  was  a  benefactor;  to  the  rich  an  ex- 
ample ;  to  the  wretched  a  comforter ;  to  the  prosperous 
an  ornament;  her  piety  went  hand  in  hand  with  her 
benevolence,  and  she  thanked  her  Creator  for  being 
permitted  to  do  good.  A  being  so  gentle  and  so  virtu- 
ous slander  might  wound,  but  could  not  dishonor.  Even 
Death,  who  has  borne  her  from  the  arms  of  her  hus- 
band, could  but  transport  her  to  the  bosom  of  her  God. " 

Interest  in  the  inscription  is  not  lessened  by  the 
knowledge  that  Mrs.  Jackson  was  Rachel  Donelson, 
who  steered  one  of  the  boats  during  the  epic  voyage  of 
the  Donelson  party  from  Virginia  to  the  Cumberland 
in  1779. 

From  Nashville  and  the  Cumberland  southeast  to 

Chattanooga  on  the  Tennessee  is  a  short  trip,  but  it 

leads  through  some  of  the  most  varied  scenery  of  a 

state  that  is  famous  for  its  attractiveness.    The  fertile 

212 


THROUGH  TENNESSEE  BY  RIVER 

valley  lands  of  this  " Dimple  of  Tennessee"  section 
gradually  give  way  to  mountains  that  rise  as  high  as 
two  thousand  feet.  Along  the  route  are  picturesque 
towns,  like  Murf  reesboro,  for  a  time  the  capital  of  Ten- 
nessee, and  McMinnville,  near  Caney  Fork  Eiver,  the 
county  seat  of  one  of  the  two  circular  counties  of  the 
state,  formed  with  unusual  boundaries  in  an  attempt  to 
circumvent  provisions  of  the  Constitution  for  the  or- 
ganization of  new  counties. 

Then  there  is  Tullahoma,  attractive  in  name  and 
still  more  attractive  in  its  surroundings — mountain 
streams  where  fishermen  play  with  the  speckled 
beauties,  medicinal  springs  where  health-seekers 
throng,  and  Eutledge  Falls,  where  the  waters  form  in 
a  succession  of  cascades  framed  amid  the  trees  of  a 
luxuriant  forest.  Near  by,  Monteagle  lures  the  lover 
of  highland  beauty  by  its  location  2200  feet  up  on  Cum- 
berland Mountain,  or  by  the  promise  of  a  tour  to  Won- 
der Cave,  the  most  attractive  of  the  scores  of  limestone 
caverns  in  the  state,  with  its  several  miles  of  passages, 
widening  out  at  times  into  halls  where  stalactites  and 
stalagmites  of  all  colors  combine  to  urge  exploration, 
even  though  it  is  sometimes  necessary  to  wade  in  the 
creek  that  flows  along  the  cavern  and  out  of  the  portal. 
The  Indians  must  have  roamed  these  passages  and 
waded  the  creek,  for  the  cave  was  on  the  old  Nicajac 
Trail,  from  northern  Alabama  to  middle  Tennessee. 
Not  far  to  the  north  was  a  famed  city  of  refuge,  where 
the  manslayer  was  safe  from  the  avenger  so  long  as 
he  remained  within  its  shelter,  even  though  the  slayer 
was  a  white  man  and  the  victim  an  Indian. 

Sewanee  vies  with  Monteagle  in  its  scenery.  This 
home  of  the  University  of  the  South  is  famous  for  rare 

213 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

outlooks  and  for  mountain  climbs  that  richly  reward 
those  who  like  to  go  where  the  clouds  come  down  to 
earth  and  the  eagles  seem  to  soar  almost  within  reach. 

One  of  these  rambles  leads  to  Lost  Cove,  with  its 
graceful  natural  bridge  of  sandstone,  one  hundred  and 
thirty  feet  long  from  bluff  to  bluff. 

The  distance  is  not  great  from  Sewanee  down  to  the 
Tennessee.  But  what  forest-covered  mountain  slopes 
must  be  covered  or  evaded  before  the  regal  curves  of 
the  river  come  in  sight!  And  what  a  never-to-be-for- 
gotten ride  the  stream  affords  from  the  time  it 
enters  the  state  until  Chattanooga  appears,  seated 
in  glory  at  the  foot  of  Lookout  Mountain,  the  sentinel 
of  the  Appalachians. 

Chattanooga  seems  to  have  more  than  its  fair  share 
of  attractions.  Mountains  hem  it  in,  Chickamauga  Bat- 
tlefield is  near  by  in  Georgia,  Missionary  Ridge  over- 
looks the  city,  While  the  Government  road  along  the 
crest  makes  easy  the  study  of  a  panorama  that  every- 
one should  see  once,  that  few  can  see  once  without  try- 
ing to  see  it  again  and  yet  again. 

Then  there  is  Lookout  Mountain,  fifteen  hundred 
feet  above  the  river,  to  which  access  is  easy,  from  which, 
on  a  clear  day,  bits  of  seven  states  are  visible.  But 
however  frequently  the  attempt  is  made  to  fix  the  eye 
on  the  far  spaces,  it  persists  in  dropping  to  the  stately 
curves  of  the  Tennessee,  the  famous  Moccasin  Bend, 
and  then  to  the  city  of  Chattanooga,  threaded  by  a  river 
on  whose  rocky  bluffs  are  homes  whose  contented  in- 
mates rejoice  in  the  prosperity  and  the  unexampled  lo- 
cation of  their  favored  city. 

It  is  difficult  to  credit  the  statement  that  Chatta- 
nooga, instead  of  being  one  of  the  most  delightful  cities 

214 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE   BY   RIVER 

in  the  land,  might  have  been  only  an  overgrown  country 
town.  But  this  is  what  the  residents  of  Guntersville, 
a  few  miles  away  in  Alabama,  at  the  point  where  the 
Tennessee  bends  to  the  southeast,  once  tried  to  bring 
about — not  because  they  had  any  ill-will  to  Chatta- 
nooga, but  because  they  wished  their  own  town  well. 
About  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a  member  of  the 
Alabama  legislature,  himself  a  resident  of  Gunters- 
ville, sought  a  charter  for  a  railroad  to  connect  the 
Tennessee  and  the  Coosa  Eivers,  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  become  part  of  a  great  through  railroad.  The 
plan  seemed  to  be  working  out  a  few  years  later  when 
the  road  from  Memphis  by  way  of  Atlanta  to  Charles- 
ton was  planned.  The  Guntersville  citizen  almost  suc- 
ceeded in  having  it  routed  from  Decatur  to  Guntersville, 
and  then  on  to  Atlanta.  If  he  had  succeeded,  Chat- 
tanooga would  have  been  left  far  to  one  side.  But  Chat- 
tanooga interests  became  busy,  and  the  contest  was 
sharp.  Finally  the  governors  of  Tennessee,  Missis- 
sippi, Alabama,  Georgia  and  South  Carolina  each 
appointed  three  men,  fifteen  in  all,  who  should  decide 
the  question.  The  vote  in  committee  was  a  tie — and 
the  chairman  cast  his  vote  for  the  Chattanooga  route, 
thus  making  it  the  great  railroad  center  of  the  middle 
South — or  so  the  story  is  told  by  John  Allen  Wyeth, 
son  of  the  Guntersville  man  who  failed  in  his  dream 
of  making  his  home  town  great. 

Chattanooga  is  the  Gate  City  to  that  mountain 
region  between  the  Tennessee  Eiver  and  the  Unaka 
Mountains,  on  the  border  of  North  Carolina,  which  has 
been  called  the  Switzerland  of  America.  In  ascending 
the  mountain-girt  river  and  its  antecedent,  the  Clinch 
(or,  as  the  Indians  called  it,  the  Pelissippi),  the  adven- 

215 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

turer  moves  in  a  southeasterly  direction  toward  the 
Virginia  line.  At  first  he  has  on  his  left  the  rugged 
Walden's  Eidge  that  long  proved  an  almost  insuper- 
able barrier  to  commerce  with  the  central  part  of  the 
state,  and  on  the  right  the  region  of  the  Great  Indian 
War  Path. 

On  the  way  to  Knoxville  there  is  a  county  seat  whose 
sigh  for  greatness  that  might  have  been  sounds  like 
that  of  Guntersville.  Nearly  half  a  century  ago  a 
resident  proudly  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  its 
location  at  the  junction  of  the  Tennessee  and  a  tribu- 
tary river  was  more  advantageous  than  that  of  any 
other  town  in  the  United  States.  "If  half  the  money 
that  has  been  spent  on  the  Allegheny,  the  Ohio  and  the 
Monongahela  was  expended  on  the  Tennessee  and  its 
tributaries  .  .  .  such  localities  as  Kingston  would 
attract  the  attention  they  deserve,"  this  man  stated 
with  assurance.  At  the  same  time  he  printed  a  map 
to  show  that  Kingston  was  the  center.  Thus  he  was 
the  ancestor  of  all  the  makers  of  similar  maps  of  cities 
that  have  become  more  or  less  famous. 

Once  Kingston  was  the  capital  of  Tennessee,  but  the 
glory  was  short-lived.  As  capital  it  was  a  successor 
of  Knoxville,  which  had  that  honor  during  its  early 
history,  first  in  1791,  when  Governor  Blount  made  it 
the  seat  of  government  of  the  Territory  of  the  United 
States  south  of  the  Ohio  Eiver. 

In  early  days  emigration  was  attracted  to  Knox- 
ville by  the  beauty  of  its  surroundings,  and  visitors 
have  not  yet  ceased  to  marvel  at  its  command  of  the 
East  Tennessee  Valley,  near  the  junction  of  the  Ten- 
nessee and  the  French  Broad.  There  are  so  many 
heights  from  which  the  eye  can  look  away  over  water 

216 


THROUGH   TENNESSEE   BY  RIVER 

and  valleys  to  cloud-embracing  mountains  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  choose  among  them.  But  perhaps  the  gem 
among  them  all  is  the  Country  Club  summit,  with  its 
view  of  the  Tennessee,  making  a  circuit,  almost  com- 
plete, and  far  beyond  the  wooded  slopes  and  peaks  of 
the  Unakas.  Once  the  river  traffic  was  important,  and 
it  is  still  worth  reckoning.  But  for  the  tourist  the  charm 
of  the  river  is  not  in  its  ability  to  bear  the  products 
of  the  valley,  but  in  the  access  it  gives  to  regions  be- 
yond the  bustle  of  the  city  whose  Northern  enterprise 
and  Southern  hospitality  make  a  combination  that  has 
given  to  it  a  position  of  prominence  not  only  in  Ten- 
nessee but  in  the  entire  South. 

Knoxville  was  not  yet  begun  when,  in  the  northeast 
section  of  the  state,  the  pioneers  tried  a  most  interest- 
ing experiment  in  statecraft.  Leaders  among  the  set- 
tlers thought  that  the  cession  to  Congress  of  the  lands 
west  of  the  Unakas  was  not  a  solution  to  their  prob- 
lem of  remoteness  from  the  seat  of  government  in  North 
Carolina.  So  they  proceeded  to  organize  the  state  of 
Franklin  (or  Frankland,  the  home  of  free  men,  as  some 
wanted  to  call  it,  but  the  name  Franklin  was  later  chosen 
officially) .  Offices  were  provided  for,  and  a  constitution 
was  proposed  by  Sam  Houston ;  this  was  voted  down 
in  favor  of  a  revision  of  the  North  Carolina  constitu- 
tion. Provision  was  made  that  taxes  should  be  paid  in 
flax,  linen,  tow  linen,  linsey,  beaver  skin,  cased  otter 
skin,  woolen  cloth,  bacon,  tallow,  beeswax,  whisky, 
apple  toddy,  sugar,  deer  skin  and  tobacco.  The  salaries 
of  state  officers  were  to  be  paid  in  such  of  these  articles 
as  were  collected. 

The  first  court-house  was  built  at  Greeneville,  north- 
east of  Knoxville.  The  location  was  at  the  lower  cor- 

217 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

ner  of  the  present  court-house  lot.  The  building  was 
of  unhewn  logs,  without  windows  and  with  only  an 
unguarded  opening  for  a  door.  In  this  structure  the 
constitution  was  adopted  and  the  name  of  the  state 
was  chosen  officially.  Perhaps  the  delegates  were  too 
busy  to  heed  the  fact  that  fish  were  plentiful  in  the 
streams  near  at  hand,  but  to-day  visitors  are  not  so 
indifferent  to  surroundings  that  are  ideal  for  the  hun- 
ter or  for  the  fisherman.  And  if  a  man's  chief  interest  is 
scenery,  what  an  invitation  is  given  by  the  Nolichucky 
Valley,  below  the  ridge  on  which  the  town  is  built,  and 
the  Great  Smoky  Mountains  on  one  side  and  the  Clinch 
Mountains  on  the  other ! 

The  near-by  county-seat  town,  Jonesboro,  is  also 
famous  for  its  connection  with  the  infant  state.  Here, 
in  the  oldest  town  of  Tennessee,  founded  in  1779,  the 
first  session  of  the  legislature  was  held.  The  mountain 
men  who  composed  it  felt  at  home  here,  for  it  is  but 
a  few  miles  to  the  highest  summits  of  the  Unakas, 
among  them  Great  Bald,  which  boasts  5500  feet. 

Between  Jonesboro  and  Knoxville  is  a  third  town 
that  was  prominent  in  the  days  of  Franklin — Dan- 
dridge,  the  only  town  in  the  country  named  for  Mrs. 
George  Washington — Mrs.  Martha  Dandridge  Wash- 
ington. Both  Sam  Houston  and  Daniel  Boone  were  at 
home  in  Dandridge  in  the  heroic  days  of  the  moun- 
tain men. 

For  four  years  the  state  of  Franklin  held  its  own, 
in  spite  of  the  appeals  and  the  threats  of  the  Governor 
of  North  Carolina,  the  setting  up  of  a  rival  govern- 
ment in  its  own  territory  and  the  defection  of  many  of 
its  supporters.  At  length,  in  1788,  those  who  still  re- 
mained faithful  to  Franklin  decided  that  the  time  had 

218 


THROUGH  TENNESSEE  BY  RIVER 

come  to  yield  to  North  Carolina,  it  being  understood 
that  a  new  government  would  be  set  up  before  long. 

It  is  not  easy  to  exhaust  the  interest  of  this  corner 
of  Tennessee  where  the  mountain  rivers  have  worn 
their  way  through  the  opposing  mountains.  Bristol, 
part  of  it  over  the  line  in  Virginia,  has  in  its  immediate 
vicinity  one  hundred  miles  of  splendid  roads  for  the 
automobile,  many  of  them  on  ridges  two  thousand  feet 
high.  Holston  Mountain  and,  farther  south,  Roan 
Mountain,  demand  the  inspection  of  the  lover  of  the 
heights,  even  if  the  roads  are  not  good  except  for  the 
tramper.  Watauga  speaks  eloquently  of  another 
famous  attempt  at  independent  statecraft  that  bore  rich 
fruit  when  Tennessee  was  organized. 

And  then  there  is  Sycamore  Shoals  on  the  Watauga 
River,  where  a  monument  erected  by  the  Daughters  of 
the  American  Revolution  tells  of  the  undying  fame  of 
sturdy  mountaineers,  adherents  of  the  cause  of  the 
Colonies.  When  Major  Ferguson  of  the  British  Army 
sent  them  word  to  desist  from  their  opposition  they 
decided  to  give  their  answer  in  person ;  they  would  cross 
the  mountains,  kill  Ferguson,  and  put  his  army  to 
flight.  At  Sycamore  Shoals  they  assembled,  on  Sep- 
tember 25,  1780;  then  they  made  their  difficult  way 
across  the  Unakas,  traveling  so  swiftly  that  the  forces 
of  the  enemy  were  surprised  at  Kings  Mountain,  North 
Carolina.  In  the  battle  that  followed  the  mountain 
men  were  victorious.  The  day  of  victory,  October  7, 
1780,  is  noted  with  red  letters  in  the  annals  of  the 
Revolution,  for  it  was  ''the  day  that  made  Yorktown 
a  near  possibility." 

Kings  Mountain  is  in  Gaston  County,  North  Caro- 
lina, and  in  York  County,  South  Carolina.  The  monu- 

219 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

ment  dedicated  in  1909  is  just  over  the  line  in 
South  Carolina. 

Once,  in  his  young  manhood,  John  Muir  stood  on  a 
summit  near  the  battlefield.  He  had  climbed  there  in 
response  to  the  invitation  of  a  mountaineer,  who  said 
to  him,  "I  will  take  you  to  the  highest  ridge  in  the 
country  where  you  can  see  both  ways;  you  will  have 
a  view  of  all  the  world  on  one  side  of  the  mountain  and 
all  creation  on  the  other." 

The  heart  throbs  with  something  more  than  rare- 
fied air  as  the  pilgrim  follows  in  the  steps  of  the  nature- 
lover.  For  who  can  stand  on  one  of  these  summits  and 
look  away  to  the  broad  lands  to  the  north,  to  the  south, 
to  the  east,  to  the  west,  without  rejoicing  that  he  is  a 
citizen  of  America,  the  land  won  by  pioneers  whose 
privations  and  triumphs  have  opened  the  way  for  that 
large  service  of  humanity  to  which  the  call  has  come  so 
insistently  during  these  later  years ! 


CHAPTER  XXV 
GLIMPSES  OF  FERTILE  MISSISSIPPI 

MISSISSIPPI  shares  with  Alabama  some  of 
the  best  of  the  coast  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
In  fact,  when  ' '  the  Gulf  Coast ' '  is  spoken  of 
the  thoughts  turn  naturally  to  the  limited  portion  of 
coast  line  that  belongs  to  the  two  states  by  extension 
between  crowding  Louisiana  on  the  west  and  jealous 
Florida  on  the  east.  Florida  and  Louisiana  and  Texas 
are  partners  in  the  glorious  sweep  of  the  Gulf 's  shore 
line,  and  these  states  are  justified  in  talking  in  glowing 
terms  of  what  their  share  of  the  coast  means  to  them. 
But  many  people  feel  that  the  states  between  Florida 
and  Louisiana  have  the  best  of  the  good-natured  argu- 
ment among  the  partners  as  to  whose  possession  is 
finest,  and  that  to  Mississippi  must  be  given  the  palm 
because  of  having  the  compact  segment  where  there  is 
supreme  delight  for  those  who  listen  to  the  call  of  the 
sea  in  winter.  Louisiana  long  ago  succeeded  in  secur- 
ing title  to  millions  of  acres  of  oyster  beds  close  in 
shore  which  Mississippi  claimed,  but  so  long  as  that 
state  retains  the  more  than  one  hundred  miles  from  the 
Alabama  line  to  Pearl  River  she  can  look  with  equanim- 
ity on  her  neighbor's  possession  of  the  oyster  beds. 

One  of  the  features  that  make  residence  along  Mis- 
sissippi's water  boundary  so  delightful  is  the  series  of 
long,  narrow  islands  that  separate  Mississippi  Sound 
from  the  open  Gulf.  Strung  along  the  Sound  are 
a  dozen  resorts  where  Northerners  like  to  go  year 

221 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

after  year,  and  where  residents  of  both  Louisiana 
and  Mississippi  spend  vacation  days.  Pascagoula, 
on  Pascagoula  Sound,  is  more  of  a  commercial 
town  than  a  resort,  but  fishermen  have  learned  its 
attraction.  Biloxi,  also  called  by  George  W.  Cable 
the  mother  of  Louisiana  and  the  birthplace  of  New 
Orleans,  has  surprises  in  store  for  those  who  seek 
their  pleasure  on  shore.  Gulf  port  talks  of  its  tributary 
green  and  speckled  trout,  sheepshead,  redfish,  croakers, 
Spanish  mackerel  and  even  tarpon,  and  boasts  of  its 
reputation  among  the  seekers  after  health  and  the  joys 
of  respite  from  business  or  the  social  life  of  the  cities. 
Pass  Christian  is  old  enough  to  talk  of  a  place  in  the 
affections  of  men  and  women  of  long  ago  and  young 
enough  to  draw  multitudes  of  those  to  whom  ' i  the  Gulf 
Coast"  means,  in  general,  Mississippi  and,  specifically. 
Pass  Christian.  Those  who  thus  fall  heir  to  the  cozy 
resorts  are  not  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  them- 
selves. They  sail  on  the  Sound,  they  fish  in  the  depths, 
they  go  out  to  Breton  Island  Bird  Eeservation,  where 
the  laughing  gulls  and  the  royal  terns  seem  to  know 
that  they  are  protected  by  the  strong  hand  of  the  Gov- 
ernment. Perhaps  they  stand  entranced  on  the  shore, 
looking  out  on  its  calm,  blue  expanse  to  the  open  waters 
beyond  the  islands ;  they  glide  in  their  cars  along  the 
famous  shell  roads  that  border  the  shore,  connecting 
some  of  the  resorts;  they  dream  of  the  heroic  days 
when  Spain  and  France  played  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock with  the  lands  that  border  the  Gulf  and  the  waters 
where  the  vessel  of  many  an  adventurer  picked  its  way 
between  the  off-shore  islands. 

On  the  west  as  on  the  south  Mississippi  borders  on 
the  water.    But  on  the  west  is  the  lordly  Mississippi 
222 


GATHERING    SUGAR    CANE    IN    MISSISSIPPI 


GOING   TO   MILL 


GLIMPSES  OP  FERTILE   MISSISSIPPI 

with  its  sinuous  curves  that  make  the  boundary  line 
twice  as  long  as  that  on  the  east.  On  or  close  to  the 
Father  of  Waters  are  three  historic  towns  that  vie  with 
any  in  the  Mississippi  Valley  in  interest  and  person- 
ality. To  the  traveler  who  comes  there  from  the  Gulf 
Natchez  comes  first,  whether  the  city  is  approached  by 
highway,  by  railroad  or  by  river.  Those  who  go  up  the 
river  to-day  fare  far  better  than  the  emigrants  of  long 
ago  who  floated  downstream  from  Pittsburg,  Louisville 
and  Cairo,  or  ascended  it  after  solving  the  mysteries 
of  the  Delta. 

When  the  pioneers  came  to  Natchez  they  saw 
what,  in  1790,  William  Bartram  said  was  as  beautiful 
as  any  country  to  be  found,  with  its  great  forests  of 
live-oaks  and  beach,  thickly  studded  with  magnificent 
blooming  trees  and  shrubs,  such  as  the  magnolia,  bay, 
japonica,  cape  jessamine.  Everywhere  he  found  the 
long-  and  short-leaf  pine,  white  oak,  red  oak,  live-oak, 
pecan,  hickory  and  poplar,  most  of  them  enveloped  in 
streamers  of  long  grey  moss.  Some  of  these  trees  are 
now  extinct,  except  as  they  are  cultivated,  but  the 
country  is  still  beautiful.  And  what  wide-spreading 
views  are  presented  from  the  perpendicular  bluffs  of 
the  city,  rising  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet ! 
Below  is  the  river  sweeping  by  in  all  its  pride,  in  the 
distance  are  the  flat  green  fields  of  Louisiana,  while  on 
the  Mississippi  side  the  landscape  is  more  varied,  espe- 
cially in  the  valley  of  St.  Catherine's  Creek  and  among 
the  Devil's  Punch  Bowls  to  the  north  of  the  city,  great 
cavities  both  weird  and  wild.  Not  far  away  is  Mam- 
moth Bayou,  where  remarkable  relics  of  the  prehistoric 
mammoth  have  been  found,  while  reminders  of  the 
people  who  one  day  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  these  fertile 

223 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

lands  are  everywhere  in  the  mounds.  Of  these  Emer- 
ald Mound  is  most  important. 

The  names  of  both  D'Iberville  and  De  Bienville 
are  linked  with  the  story  of  Natchez.  In  1716  De  Bien- 
ville built  Fort  Rosalie  within  the  present  limits  of  the 
city,  but  when  this  was  captured  by  the  English  in  1763 
it  was  renamed  Fort  Panmure.  Sixteen  years  later 
Spain  captured  the  fort.  In  1783  she  promised  by 
treaty  to  give  it  up,  but  she  retained  possession  until 
1798.  The  town,  called  "the  cradle  of  Mississippi," 
was  begun  while  Spain  thus  boldly  held  on.  The  Cathe- 
dral was  built  in  what  is  now  the  business  center. 

Natchez  became  the  first  territorial  capital  and  in- 
creased in  importance  until  it  became  the  commercial 
capital  of  the  state.  After  the  panic  of  1837  it  yielded 
much  of  its  importance,  but  it  can  never  yield  the  charm 
of  the  old  days  when  it  was  a  favorite  dwelling-place 
of  wealthy  planters  and  became  a  social  city  of  note. 

In  1802  the  territorial  capital  was  moved  to  Wash- 
ington, six  miles  from  Natchez,  of  which  little  now 
remains.  In  1807  when  Aaron  Burr,  after  his  arrest 
about  twenty  miles  farther  north,  was  admitted  to  bail 
here,  the  town  was  in  its  glory.  While  out  on  bail  he 
met  a  young  girl  whom  history  knows  as  Madeline, 
described  as  "a  miracle  of  beauty."  He  visited  her 
frequently  at  her  home  near  Washington,  and  vainly 
tried  to  persuade  her  to  flee  with  him  when  he  forfeited 
his  bail.  She  refused  to  go,  but  promised  to  wait  for 
him.  For  many  years  she  was  faithful  to  the  exile, 
until,  from  England,  he  wrote  to  release  her  from 
her  promise. 

Half  way  between  Natchez  and  Vicksburg,  and  ten 
miles  from  the  Mississippi,  Port  Gibson  is  situated  on 

224 


GLIMPSES  OF  FERTILE   MISSISSIPPI 

the  plateau  between  Bayou  Pierre  and  the  hills  on  the 
south.  The  first  settler  in  the  neighborhood  was  Cap- 
tain Thaddeus  Lyman,  the  Connecticut  soldier  who  re- 
ceived from  England  a  grant  of  twenty  thousand  acres 
on  Bayou  Pierre.  With  his  followers  he  ascended  the 
river  from  New  Orleans,  traveling  on  barges  and  in 
rowboats.  To  this  day  the  lands  he  owned  are  known  as 
the  Lyman  Mandamus,  reminder  this  of  the  fact  that 
his  was  one  of  the  two  English  grants  in  Missis- 
sippi. Thus  the  first  plantation  of  the  neighborhood 
came  from  the  English  crown,  but  Port  Gibson  itself 
owes  its  beginning  to  Spain.  In  1788  Gibson,  the  first 
settler,  received  a  grant  from  that  country;  but  the 
town  was  not  laid  out  until  1803.  It  soon  became  a 
thriving  town.  Long  before  Vicksburg  was  founded 
it  was  of  great  commercial  importance.  Even  yet  it 
is  to  be  reckoned  with  both  by  the  business  man  and 
the  tourist. 

Thirty  miles  north  of  Port  Gibson  is  Vicksburg, 
which,  though  it  cannot  lay  claim  to  as  great  age  as  its 
neighbors,  has  the  distinction  of  being  built  on  an  elbow 
of  land  across  which,  in  the  days  of  the  Civil  War,  Gen- 
eral Grant  wanted  to  cut  a  canal  that  his  vessels  might 
avoid  the  deadly  fire  of  the  batteries  that  protected  both 
city  and  river.  Then  the  citizens  strenuously  objected  to 
the  canal,  but  the  day  came  when  they  devoted  all  their 
energies  to  canal  building.  This  was  in  1876,  when  the 
lawless  Mississippi  cut  across  the  peninsula  and  left 
the  city  far  from  the  water  which  was  its  life.  Despair 
settled  on  Vicksburg,  until  somebody  pointed  out  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  direct  by  canal  the  waters  of  the 
Yazoo,  which  entered  the  Mississippi  above  the  city, 
into  the  old  bed  of  the  river.  This  was  done,  and  once 

15  225 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

more  Vicksburg  on  its  Walnut  Hills  looked  down 
serenely  on  busy  wharves  and  puffing  steamboats. 

The  canal  that  saved  a  city  is  only  one  of  Vicks- 
burg 's  claims  to  fame.  Another  is  the  great  cemetery 
on  the  hills  to  the  north,  where  sixteen  thousand  Fed- 
eral soldiers  lie  buried,  within  easy  distance  of  the 
scene  of  struggle  that  had  such  vast  influence  on  the 
fortunes  of  war. 

Vicksburg  was  less  than  forty  years  old  at  the  time 
of  the  successful  attempt  at  canal  building,  and  she  was 
not  thirty  years  old  when  the  canal  that  failed  was 
begun.  But  long  years  before  these  attempts  to  con- 
quer nature  primitive  beginners  had  succeeded  in  push- 
ing through  the  wilderness  and  over  the  hills  a  road  that 
made  possible  progress  on  land,  as  the  Mississippi 
made  easy  the  passage  by  water.  This  was  the  famous 
Natchez  Trace,  which  ran  from  the  Mississippi  at 
Natchez,  by  Bayou  Pierre,  below  Vicksburg,  through 
the  heart  of  Mississippi,  crossing  the  border  below 
luka,  near  the  northeast  corner  of  the  territory,  and 
passing  beyond  the  Tennessee  at  Colbert's  Ferry,  be- 
low Muscle  Shoals.  The  northern  terminus  of  that  five 
hundred  and  one  miles  of  road  was  at  Nashville,  where 
connection  was  made  from  Lexington,  Chillicothe, 
Zanesville  and  Pittsburg. 

One  historian  says  of  this  road:  "Down  it  passed 
a  steady  stream  of  travelers,  often  men  of  wealth  jour- 
neying to  the  South  in  search  of  land  and  other  profit- 
able investment;  up  it  passed  traders,  supercargoes 
and  boatmen  from  New  Orleans,  who  would  take  the 
long  journey  overland  to  their  homes  one  thousand 
miles  away,  through  regions  infested  by  outlaws,  close 
to  the  site  of  thriving  Jackson,  since  1821  capital  of 

226 


GLIMPSES  OF  FERTILE     MISSISSIPPI 

the  state,  through  the  Indian  lands  so  reluctantly 
yielded  by  the  Choctaws  to  the  advancing  settlers." 

One  of  the  most  famous  of  the  early  pilgrims  on  the 
Trace  was  Alexander  Wilson,  the  Philadelphia  school- 
master turned  naturalist.  In  1810,  when  not  far  from 
Nashville,  he  stopped  with  an  innkeeper  named  Isaac 
Walton,  who,  after  talking  to  him  of  his  purpose  to 
study  the  birds  of  the  South,  said:  "I  cannot  and  will 
not  charge  you  anything.  Whenever  you  come  this  way, 
call  and  stay  with  me ;  you  shall  be  welcome." 

From  Nashville  Wilson  wrote  to  a  friend  in  Phila- 
delphia: "Nine  hundred  miles  from  you  sits  Wilson, 
the  hunter  of  birds '  nests  and  sparrows,  just  preparing 
to  enter  on  a  wilderness  of  780  miles — most  of  it  in  the 
territory  of  Indians — alone  but  in  good  spirits,  and 
expecting  to  have  every  pocket  crammed  with  skins  of 
new  and  extraordinary  birds  before  he  reaches  the  city 
of  New  Orleans." 

The  road  Wilson  took  was  one  of  the  most  famous 
roads  of  the  South  in  early  days.  To-day  it  is  only 
a  memory.  But  there  has  grown  around  the  territory 
it  pierced  a  great  state  whose  people  reap  the  fruits 
of  the  toils  of  the  pioneers,  whose  visitors  feast  on 
beautiful  prospects,  it  may  be  with  more  leisure,  but 
surely  not  with  more  appreciation  than  was  shown  by 
those  hardy  men  of  other  days. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

EGYPT  has  been  called  the  Gift  of  the  Nile,  be- 
cause of  the  annual  overflow  of  the  river  that 
renews  the  fertility  of  the  narrow  valley.  But 
the  name '  *  The  Gift  of  the  Mississippi ' '  may  even  more 
appropriately  be  given  to  the  richest  section  of  Louisi- 
ana— from  Baton  Rouge  east  to  the  Mississippi 
Sound,  southwest  to  the  Vermilion  River  and  south 
to  the  Gulf.  Since  the  day  when  the  mouth  of  the  Father 
of  Waters  was  near  the  present  site  of  Baton  Rouge,1 
eight  thousand  square  miles  of  these  Alluvial  Delta 
Lands  have  been  built  up,  two  thousand  feet  deep,  by  the 
sediment  from  the  stream  carried  down  from  the  ter- 
ritory of  thirty  states.  And  the  work  is  still  going  on. 
Every  year  a  million  tons  of  sediment  are  carried  down 
to  the  Gulf,  and  the  strange  Delta — where  the  river 
reaches  out  to  the  sea  with  its  tentacles  that  look  on  the 
map  like  the  fingers  of  a  giant  hand — is  pushed  out  into 
the  Gulf  one  mile  in  sixteen  years.  This  is  the  region 
of  which  Enos  A.  Mills,  the  student  of  nature  who 
knows  how  to  make  scientific  facts  attractive  to  all, 
has  said: 

"The  Mississippi  River  Delta  contains  age-old 
wreckage;  it  is  a  continental  contribution  built  by  the 
Father  of  Waters.  It  is  a  mingling  of  mountain  frag- 
ments and  broken  farms,  the  blended  ruin  and  richness 
of  ten  thousand  plains  and  peaks.  In  it,  side  by  side, 

228 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

lie  remnants  of  Pike's  Peak,  an  Ohio  hill,  the  heart  of 
old  Kentucky,  a  part  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  lava  from 
old  Yellowstone  fires,  glacial  silt  from  Canadian  moun- 
tains, dust  from  the  Great  Plains,  sediments  from  rocks 
that  were  formed  in  ancient  seas,  and  even  the  black 
meteoric  dust  of  burnt-out  worlds  and  stars.  A  delta 
may  be  a  combination  of  all  geological  rock  strata  andof 
all  life  that  has  lived  its  little  day  and  returned  to  dust, 
and  may  carry  even  the  wreckage  of  other  worlds  than 
ours.  A  polished  piece  of  granite  in  this  delta  may  be 
as  old,  almost,  as  the  earth.  Erosion  on  Canadian 
mountains  unearthed  it.  The  southward  sweep  of  the 
ice  king  seized  it,  carried  it  a  thousand  miles  southward, 
grinding  and  reducing  it,  then  depositing  it  in  Ohio. 
Here  a  flood  seized  it,  rushed  it  to  a  sandbar  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi Eiver,  and  it  lingered.  By  slow  stages  it  rolled 
its  way  down  the  Mississippi  channel  and  at  last  came 
to  rest  within  sound  of  the  sea. " 

Near  the  center  of  these  Louisiana  Alluvial  Delta 
Lands,  on  a  great  bend  of  the  Mississippi,  New  Orleans, 
the  Crescent  City,  proudly  looks  out  on  the  river  that 
built  her  foundations  ages  before  D  'Iberville  's  decision 
in  1718  to  make  this  the  site  of  the  metropolis  of  the 
French  possessions  in  America. 

In  the  days  of  D  'Iberville  the  only  sea  approach  to 
New  Orleans  was  through  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi's  Delta,  but  the  enterprise  of  the  city's  com- 
mercial leaders  and  the  skill  of  the  Goethals 
Engineering  Company,  led  by  the  man  who  was  the 
chief  dependence  of  General  Goethals  in  building  the 
Panama  Canal,  have  provided  a  second  route — from 
Mobile  and  Mississippi  Sound,  through  Lake  Pont- 
chartrain,  and  to  the  river  by  means  of  the  twenty- 

229 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

million-dollar  Industrial  Canal,  with  its  vast  Inner  Har- 
bor. This  colossal  achievement,  the  fulfilment  of  the 
dream  of  more  than  a  century,  has  attracted  compara- 
tively little  attention,  in  spite  of  the  almost  unbeliev- 
able figures  that  are  a  part  of  the  story  of  the  waterway 
that  enables  New  Orleans  to  save  forty  miles  in  reach- 
ing the  Gulf,  to  bring  iron  and  coal  directly  from  Bir- 
mingham and  its  tributary  territory,  and  to  be  one  of 
the  great  ports  onr  the  Intercoastal  Canal  from  Boston 
to  the  Southwest.  The  fourteen-foot  channel  to  the 
Gulf  will  eventually  be  made  a  thirty-five  foot  channel. 
The  lock  that  makes  possible  the  descent  from  Lake 
Pontchartrain  to  the  level  of  New  Orleans  is  six  hun- 
dred feet  long,  inside  measurement,  and  there  are  thirty 
feet  of  water  on  the  sill.  In  preparation  for  the  lock  a 
cut  sixty-five  feet  deep  was  made,  and  one  hundred 
thousand  cubic  feet  of  earth  were  removed.  The  entire 
six  miles  of  canal  to  the  lake  called  for  the  excavation  of 
ten  million  cubic  yards,  enough  to  fill  a  train  one  hun- 
dred miles  long.  Possibly  figures  like  these  mean  less 
to  the  average  reader  than  the  statement  that  fourteen 
thousand  piles  were  sunk  through  the  quicksand  to 
make  the  foundations  of  the  lock,  or  that  from  the  lock 
to  the  Mississippi  the  canal  leads  through  a  cypress 
swamp  where  the  workmen  had  to  clear  away  an  aver- 
age of  two  hundred  trees  to  the  acre.  The  cypress 
stumps  of  the  surface  were  a  great  difficulty,  but  noth- 
ing in  comparison  with  the  stumps  and  logs  found  at 
various  levels  below  the  surface.  These  are  the  remains 
of  forests  eighteen  thousand  to  twenty  thousand  years 
old,  according  to  the  theory  of  local  geologists.  Early 
in  the  earth's  history  great  forests  were  where  New 
Orleans  now  lies.  They  sank  beneath  the  sea;  rivers 

230 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

with  their  silt  again  built  up  the  land  and  new  forests 
grew ;  they,  too,  sank,  and  the  cycle  was  repeated.  The 
ordinary  type  of  dredge,  even  with  the  strength  of  one 
thousand  horsepower  behind  it,  was  unable  to  pene- 
trate these  obstacles,  and  special  machinery  was  devel- 
oped by  a  New  Orleans  engineer  to  meet  the  difficulty. 

In  1766,  when  Captain  Harry  Gorden  visited  New 
Orleans,  he  spoke  of  "the  Difficulty  of  Approach"  that 
railroads  and  the  Industrial  Canal  have  helped  to  make 
a  thing  of  the  past : 

"New  Orleans  is  but  a  small  Town,  not  many  good 
Houses  in  it,  but  in  general  healthy  and  the  Inhabitants 
well  looked ;  It's  principal  Staple  is  the  Trade  for  Furrs 
and  skins  from  the  Illinois ;  their  want  of  Negroes  keep 
back  the  Indigo  making :  They  have  attempted  Sugar, 
and  there  are  now  Five  Plantations  that  produce  it; 
but  they  do  not  make  it  turn  out  to  great  Account. 
There  is  only  a  Stockade  round  the  Place  with  a  large 
Banquet,  their  Dependence  for  the  Defence  is  the  Diffi- 
culty of  Approach,  that  up  the  Eiver  is  tedious  and 
easily  opposed,  particularly  at  the  Detour  d'Anglois, 
and  there  is  only  12  Feet  Water  on  the  Bar.  The  Mili- 
tary Force  at  this  Place  is  at  present  Small,  not  above 
eighty  Spaniards  remain  of  those  brought  with 
their  Governor." 

Mrs.  Annie  Eoyall,  famous  traveler  of  the  early 
nineteenth  century,  formed  a  much  more  favorable 
impression  when  her  pilgrimage  through  the  South  led 
her  to  the  metropolis  of  Louisiana.  After  noting  that 
the  city's  name  is  pronounced  by  most  of  the  people 
"Norlins,"  she  declared,  "From  the  very  nature  of  its 
advantages  the  day  is  not  distant  when  New  Orleans 
will  be  the  first  city  in  the  Union,  if  not  in  the  world. ' ' 

231 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Successors  of  Mrs.  Royall  may  revise  her  judgment 
as  to  the  future  of  the  city,  but  they  will  not  feel  like 
questioning  her  enthusiasm  so  far  as  its  charm  is  con- 
cerned. Everywhere  they  go  they  are  confronted  by 
reminders  of  the  kaleidoscopic  changes  in  the  city's 
career,  first  under  France,  then  under  Spain,  then  under 
France  once  more  until  it  became  a  possession  of  the 
United  States  in  1803.  The  transfer  was  made  in  the 
quaint  old  Cabildo,  on  Jackson  Square,  the  former 
Place  d'Armes,  where  St.  Louis  Cathedral  also  tells  of 
the  days  of  old. 

Even  the  names  of  the  streets  speak  eloquently  of  a 
past  that  is  so  different  from  that  of  any  other  city  in 
America,  Canal,  Rampart  and  Esplanade  Streets  are 
on  the  site  of  the  moat  of  which  Captain  Gorden  wrote. 
Camp  Street  is  named  for  the  one-time  Campo  de 
Negros,  or  Camp  of  the  Negroes.  Poydras  Street  was 
named  for  one  who  owned  land  along  that  thorough- 
face.  Tchoupitoulas  Road,  with  its  willow-grown  bor- 
der, where  landed  flatboats  and  keelboats,  predecessors 
of  the  steamboats,  is  to-day  Tchoupitoulas  Street. 

The  names  of  these  streets  become  familiar  to  those 
who  visit  the  Crescent  City  at  the  time  of  its  great 
festival  week,  Mardi  Gras,  so  called  in  memory  of  the 
fact  that  on  Mardi  Gras,  Shrove  Tuesday,  D  'Iberville 
took  possession  for  France  of  the  country  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Mississippi.  For  more  than  seventy-five  years 
the  carnival  has  been  held  annually  during  a  period 
of  five  days.  The  Ball  of  the  Knights  of  Momus,  the 
Ball  of  the  Knights  of  Proteus,  the  parade  of  Rex, 
king  of  the  carnival,  and  the  ball  of  the  Mystic  Krew  of 
Comus  delight  both  citizens  and  visitors. 

But  let  no  one  think  that  the  only  time  to  see  New 

232 


JACKSON    SQUARE,    NEW    ORLEANS,    LOUISIANA 

The  central  building  is  the  Cathedral.    On  the  left  is  the  Cabildo.     On  the  right  is  the 

Presbytere 


THREE    OAKS   MANSION,    CHALMETTE,    NEW   ORLEANS 
Used  for  oare  of  wounded  in  the  Battle  of  New  Orleans,  1815 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

Orleans  is  during  the  Mardi  Gras  festival.  The  best 
season  is  when  the  crowds  are  absent,  when  the  wan- 
derer through  the  Vieux  Carre,  or  old  city,  has  leisure 
to  pause  at  the  delightful  French  market ;  to  turn  into 
one  of  the  oyster  bays — where,  if  he  is  unwise,  he  may 
call  for  a  dozen  raw  oysters,  only  to  find  that  he  can- 
not possibly  dispose  of  more  than  four  or  five  of  the 
monster  bivalves  set  before  him ;  or  to  take  a  seat  in  a 
French  restaurant  down  some  side  street  where  the 
chef  knows  the  secret  of  making  the  delectable  oyster 
loaf,  which  is  only  imitated  in  other  cities. 

Mournfully  he  will  pass  the  site  of  the  famous  old 
French  opera  house — scene  of  the  first  appearance  in 
the  United  States  of  Adelina  Patti — destroyed  by  fire 
in  1919.  He  can  study  the  iron  balconies  on  the  ancient 
French  houses.  If  he  is  fortunate  enough  to  spend  a 
night  in  a  mammoth  four-poster  bed  in  one  of  these  bal- 
cony rooms,  he  can,  in  the  morning,  have  the  rare  privi- 
lege of  looking  out  from  a  pleasing  point  of  vantage  on 
the  mixed  throng  in  the  street  below,  where  soberly- 
dressed  business  men  touch  elbows  with  gayly  garbed 
and  voluminously  turbaned  negresses,  or  fashionable 
Creole  women,  descendants  of  French  and  Spanish  an- 
cestors. And  everywhere  he  will  see  the  street  gamins 
who  have  a  keen  scent  for  a  stray  two  bits,  not  only  on 
days  that  are  fair  but  also  when  the  rain  descends  in 
torrents  and  the  gutters  overflow  until  pedestrians  are 
glad  to  avail  themselves  of  the  pine  boxes  placed  before 
them  as  stepping-stones  by  these  convenient  urchins. 

Not  far  from  the  city's  business  center — whose  mod- 
ern hi'gh  buildings  are  near-neighbors  of  structures  that 
were  modern  when  steamer  traffic  was  in  its  glory,  as 
well  as  of  some  of  the  survivors  of  the  days  of  French 

233 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

ownership — are  warehouses  where  the  familiar  bales 
from  the  field  compresses  are  further  compressed  into 
startlingly  small  compass  for  export,  and  the  docks 
where  great  ocean-going  steamers  discharge  and  re- 
ceive their  cargoes.  One  can  wander  for  hours  on  these 
docks,  and  can  return  with  pleasure  the  very  next  day 
and  gaze  at  will  on  the  busy  scene — the  handling  of  the 
cotton,  the  unloading  of  bananas  from  the  West  Indies, 
the  trundling  of  molasses  casks  that  give  out  friendly 
streams  for  the  gratification  of  the  negro  deckhands, 
the  piling  up  of  sacks  of  sugar  bound  for  the  refinery, 
which  a  convenient  ganger  samples  with  his  auger  until 
an  amber-colored  handful  is  within  easy  reach. 

Then  comes  the  pilgrimage  to  St.  Louis  Cemetery, 
whose  site  was  outside  the  old  city  walls.  There  moss- 
draped  trees  and  vaults  above  ground — " ovens,"  as 
they  are  called  in  New  Orleans — seldom  fail  to  make  the 
tourist  glad  that  the  grounds  are  open  to  the  public,  even 
if  the  "ovens"  are  closed  to  all  but  "members  of  the 
families ' '  of  those  whose  names,  many  of  them  French, 
are  inscribed  on  the  stones  that  close  the  last  resting- 
places  of  thousands.  Metaire  Cemetery,  more  modern, 
is  well  worth  a  visit,  but  St.  Louis  should  be  seen  first. 

One  of  the  names  that  finds  place  in  a  New  Orleans 
cemetery  is  that  of  Paul  Tulane,  descendant  of  a 
Huguenot,  a  bachelor  whose  love  was  all  given  to  the 
city  where  he  made  his  fortune.  When  he  died  he  pro- 
vided for  the  building  and  endowment  of  Tulane  Uni- 
versity, that  it  might  no  longer  be  necessary  for  the 
citizens  of  New  Orleans  to  send  their  sons  far  away 
for  an  education. 

Tulane  University  is  opposite  Audubon  Park,  one 
of  the  city's  breathing  places,  named  for  the  great 

234 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

bird-lover  who  spent  long  months  in  the  city  enduring 
hardship,  while  he  made  steady  progress  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  dream  to  put  on  paper  the  birds  of 
America.  A  bronze  statue  in  the  park  shows  him 
holding  a  note-book  in  one  hand,  while  in  the  other  is  a 
pencil  with  which  he  is  about  to  set  down  his  observa- 
tions of  a  bird  he  is  intently  watching. 

Audubon  first  reached  New  Orleans  in  January, 
1821,  after  an  adventurous  trip  from  Natchez,  where  he 
had  paused  long  enough  to  paint  portraits  of  a  shoe- 
maker and  his  wife  in  payment  for  two  pairs  of  boots, 
one  for  himself,  the  other  for  a  penniless  companion. 
The  first  part  of  the  journey  was  made  on  a  keelboat 
in  tow  of  the  steamer  Columbus.  From  Bayou  Sara 
the  journey  was  continued  in  a  rowboat,  in  which  he  was 
set  adrift  by  the  captain  of  the  Columbus,  who  was  in 
a  hurry  to  reach  New  Orleans. 

The  bird-artist  landed  penniless  in  the  Crescent 
City.  Next  day  he  went  to  the  French  market  and  soon 
found  his  way  to  the  stalls  of  the  bird  sellers.  There 
his  heart  swelled  as  he  saw  "  mallard,  teal,  American 
widgeon,  Canadian  and  snow  geese,  tell-tale  goodwits, 
robins,  bluebirds  and  red-wing  blackbirds." 

He  lived  for  a  time  on  Ursuline  Street,  near  the  old 
Convent,  and  he  took  many  long  walks  through  the 
streets  and  far  out  in  the  surrounding  country.  But 
the  longer  he  remained  the  less  favorable  became  his 
judgment  of  the  fair  city.  Five  years  later,  after  sev- 
eral visits,  he  wrote  in  his  journal:  "New  Orleans  to 
a  Man  who  does  not  trade  in  Dollars  or  any  other  Such 
Stuffs  is  a  miserable  Spot." 

To-day  those  who  follow  in  the  steps  of  Audubon 
will  not  be  ready  to  agree  with  an  opinion  that  must 

235 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

have  been  the  result  of  his  misfortunes.  For  every- 
where they  turn  they  will  find  fresh  pleasure.  From 
Audubon  Park,  with  its  280  acres  of  live-oak  avenues, 
palm-grove  drives  and  canoe  streams,  they  can  go 
across  the  city  to  City  Park,  only  a  little  smaller,  where 
more  semi-tropical  trees  grow  above  the  velvety  lawns, 
among  these  being  the  famous  duelling  oaks,  just  pistol- 
shot  apart,  favorite  haunt  of  the  followers  of  the  Code 
Duello.  And  when  reluctant  consent  is  gained  to  leave 
the  city  itself  they  can  go  to  Chalmette,  down  the  river, 
scene  of  the  Battle  of  New  Orleans  or  to  Lake  Pont- 
chartrain,  with  its  famous  resort,  Covington,  across  the 
water  in  St.  Tammany  Parish,  which  gives  such  ready 
access  to  the  waterways  Bogue  Falaya,  Tchefuncta 
Eiver  and  Abita  Eiver. 

Within  easy  reach  are  other  famous  fishing  and 
hunting  resorts,  reminders  that  New  Orleans  is  in  a 
region  of  which  William  T.  Hornaday  wrote  in  "Our 
Vanishing  Wild  Life":  "There  is  one  state  in  Amer- 
ica, and,  so  far  as  I  know,  only  one,  in  which  there 
is  at  this  moment  an  old-time  abundance  of  game-bird 
life.  That  is  the  state  of  Louisiana.  The  reason  is  not 
so  very  far  to  seek.  For  the  birds  that  do  migrate — 
quail,  wild  turkey  and  doves — the  cover  is  yet  abundant. 
For  the  migratory  game  birds  of  the  Mississippi  Val- 
ley Louisiana  is  a  grand  central  depot,  with  terminal 
facilities  that  are  unsurpassed.  Her  reedy  shores,  her 
vast  marshes,  her  long  coast  line  and  abundance  of  food 
furnish  what  should  not  only  be  a  haven  but  a  heaven 
for  ducks  and  geese.  The  great  forests  of  Louisiana 
shelter  deer,  turkeys  and  fur-bearing  animals  galore; 
and  rabbits  and  squirrels  abound. ' ' 

It  was  to  Louisiana  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  went 

236 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

for  a  hunting  holiday  in  October,  1907.  His  chosen 
grounds  were  far  north  of  New  Orleans  in  the  Tensas 
River  country.  From  there  he  wrote  to  his  son  Ted : 

"  'Bad  old  father'  is  coming  back  after  a  success- 
ful trip.  It  was  a  success  in  every  way,  including  the 
bear  hunt;  but  in  the  case  of  the  bear  hunt  we  only 
just  made  it  successful  and  no  more,  for  it  was  not 
until  the  twelfth  day  of  steady  hunting  that  I  got  my 
bear.  Then  I  shot  it  in  the  most  approved  hunter's 
style,  going  up  on  it  in  a  cane  brake  as  it  made  a  walk- 
ing bay  before  the  dogs.  I  also  killed  a  deer — more  by 
luck  than  anything  else,  as  it  was  a  difficult  shot." 

Louisiana  abounds  not  only  in  game,  but  in  musical 
and  unusual  names  like  Zwolle,  Vivian,  Rodessa, 
Neame,  Juanita,  De  Quincy,  Florien,  Bon  Ami,  Ana- 
coco,  Opelousas,  Natchitoches,  Tangipahoa,  Broussard, 
Thiboudaux,  Grand  Coteau,  Plaquemine  and  Iberville. 

Iberville  is  in  Ascension  Parish,  whose  western  bor- 
der is  the  Mississippi  River.  No  visitor  to  Louisiana 
should  be  content  without  taking  a  trip  by  steamboat 
up  the  stream  at  least  as  far  as  the  upper  border  of  this 
parish,  if  possible  going  ashore  on  one  of  the  abutting 
plantations  and  riding  through  the  cane  fields  on  a 
primitive  field-car  drawn  on  its  iron  track  by  a  mule 
and  driven  by  a  typical  plantation  Negro.  The  journey 
should  be  continued  to  Baton  Rouge,  since  1847  the 
capital  of  the  state,  chosen  for  one  reason,  perhaps,  be- 
cause it  is  on  a  bluff  far  above  the  reach  of  floods. 

But  why  stop  at  Baton  Rouge?  Go  on  around  the 
bends  above  the  city,  where  the  river  wanders  with  ap- 
parent aimlessness — meanders  in  tortuous  fashion  be- 
cause the  water  has  chosen  the  path  of  least  resistance, 
a  choice  that,  in  time  of  flood,  often  leads  to  the  over- 

237 


coming  of  some  of  the  wicker  barriers  that  once  turned 
the  water,  until  a  new  channel  is  made,  across  a  bend. 

The  Mississippi  is  the  best  example  in  the  United 
States  of  a  stream  that  meanders  thus  and  that  changes 
its  meanderings  in  a  way  still  more  trying,  so  that  it 
is  always  proving  a  puzzle  to  those  who  live  on  its 
banks  or  have  business  on  its  waters.  Channels  change, 
acres  disappear  or  shift  from  one  side  of  the  stream 
to  the  other,  and  so  many  other  like  things  occur  that 
the  startling  ceases  to  startle  and  the  unexpected  be- 
comes the  expected. 

Those  who  studied  John  Pinkerton  's  Geography  of 
1804  were  told  of  the  shifting  Misssissippi  in  the  fol- 
lowing words : 

"The  direction  of  the  channel  is  so  crooked  that 
from  New  Orleans  to  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio,  a  dis- 
tance which  does  not  exceed  460  miles  in  a  straight  line, 
is  about  856  by  water.  It  may  be  shortened  at  least 
250  miles  by  cutting  across  eight  or  ten  necks  of  land, 
some  of  which  are  not  thirty  yards  wide." 

St.  Francisville,  in  West  Feliciana  Parish,  some 
distance  north  of  Baton  Kouge,  is  at  the  beginning  of 
one  of  the  most  striking  meanders  in  Louisiana.  Along 
this  stretch  of  river,  one  day  in  1821,  passed  Audubon 
the  naturalist  on  his  way  to  Oakley,  the  plantation  home 
of  James  Pirrie  on  Bayou  Sara,  a  sluggish  tributary 
of  the  Mississippi.  Audubon  had  promised  to  tutor 
Pirrie 's  daughter  for  sixty  dollars  a  month,  with  the 
understanding  that  he  was  to  have  half  of  his  time  for 
hunting  and  drawing. 

After  leaving  the  stream  at  St.  Francisville  Audu- 
bon walked  five  miles  to  Oakley.  In  his  journal  he  noted 
the  startling  change  in  the  scenery  along  the  route. 

238 


OAKLEY    PLANTATION,    WEST    FELICIANA    PARISH,    LOUISIANA 
Here  J.  J.  Audubon  taught  Eliza  Pirrie  drawing  in  1821 


THE    DUELLING    OAKS,    CITY    PARK,    NEW    ORLEANS,    LOUISIANA 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

Instead  of  lowlands,  seen  all  the  way  from  New  Orleans, 
there  were  alluring  highlands.  "The  rich  magnolia, 
covered  with  fragrant  blossoms,  the  holly,  the  beech, 
the  tall,  yellow  poplars,  the  hilly  ground  and  even 
the  red  clay  all  excited  my  admiration,"  he  wrote. 
'  *  Such  an  entire  change  in  the  face  of  nature  in  so  short 
a  time  seems  almost  supernatural.  Surrounded  once 
more  by  numerous  warblers  and  thrushes,  I  enjoyed 
the  scene." 

The  plantation  home  at  Oakley  is  still  standing. 
Francis  Hobart  Herrick,  in  his  biography  of  the  natur- 
alist, says  it  has  changed  but  little  since  that  time,  but 
the  century  that  has  nearly  sped  its  course  has  added 
strength  and  beauty  to  the  moss-hung  oaks  which  now 
encompass  it  and  temper  the  heat  of  the  southern  sun 
in  the  double-decked  galleries  which  enclose  its  whole 
front.  Built  of  the  enduring  cypress,  the  house  stands 
as  firm  and  sound  as  the  gaunt  but  living  sentinels  of 
that  order  which  tower  from  the  brakes  not  far  away. 
It  is  occupied  to-day  by  the  great  granddaughter  of 
the  young  woman  whom  Audubon  tutored. 

The  stay  at  Oakley  was  brought  to  a  conclusion  by 
the  jealousy  of  Miss  Pirrie's  physician,  her  lover,  who 
said  that  the  maiden's  health  would  not  permit  her  to 
write  or  draw  for  a  period  of  four  months ! 

Only  a  few  miles  above  Oakley  is  the  mouth  of  the 
Red  Eiver,  maker  of  millions  of  acres  of  alluvial  land, 
most  of  it  as  yet  undeveloped.  Modern  travelers  up  the 
river  that  flows  through  this  rich  domain  find  it  difficult 
to  realize  what  a  menace  to  health  and  comfort  the 
stream  was  in  early  days  when  the  heavy  timber  along 
the  banks  fell  into  the  water,  choked  the  channel  for  a 
distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred  miles, 

239 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

diverted  the  waters,  and  so  spread  malaria  over  a  wide 
extent  of  country. 

G.  W.  Featherstonhaugh,  an  English  traveler  who 
visited  the  country  in  1835,  wrote  with  wonder : ' '  Of  the 
extent  of  the  deposits  of  dead  timber  something  like  an 
adequate  idea  can  be  formed  by  giving  some  details 
of  the  nature  and  extent  of  that  particular  one  called 
the  Great  Raft,  and  of  those  means  adopted  to  remove 
it,  which  do  so  much  honor  to  the  Congress  that  author- 
ized them,  and  to  Captain  Shreve,  the  officer  to  whom 
the  execution  of  the  work  was  entrusted.  When  this 
intelligent  and  energetic  man  came  upon  the  ground 
in  the  spring  of  1833,  he  found  that  the  raft  extended 
up  the  bed  of  the  river  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 
Not  that  the  whole  channel  of  the  river  was  blocked 
up  by  it,  but  the  dead  timber  occupying  one-third  of 
the  breadth  of  the  river,  the  whole  stream  had  conse- 
quently become  unnavigable,  numerous  mud  islands 
having  been  formed  everywhere,  especially  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  raft,  and  trees  and  bushes  growing  on  them 
all.  Not  far  from  the  line  of  the  river  were  numerous 
lagoons  and  swamps — once  its  ancient  bed — into  which 
the  river  pours  by  bayous  and  low  places;  these  he 
stopped  up  with  timber  taken  from  the  raft,  and,  con- 
fining the  stream  to  its  bed,  produced  a  current  of  three 
miles  an  hour ;  whereas,  before  he  began  his  operations, 
he  found  the  river  quite  dead,  and  without  current  for 
forty  miles  below  the  southern  termination  of  the  raft. 
As  soon  as  a  current  was  established  he,  by  means  of 
huge  floating  saw  mills,  worked  by  steam,  cut  portions 
of  the  raft  out,  and  let  them  float  down  the  stream.  At 
length  the  current  became  sufficiently  lively  to  wear 
away  the  mud  banks  and  island  and  give  an  average 

240 


TRIANGULATING  LOUISIANA 

depth  of  twenty-five  feet  to  the  river.  During  the 
first  season  of  his  operation  he  succeeded  in  removing 
about  seventy  miles  of  the  whole  mass  of  the  Great 
Baft,  and  it  is  now  confidently  believed  that  a  good 
steamboat  navigation  will  soon  be  opened  to  its 
farthest  extent." 

Captain  Shreve  removed  the  obstruction  for  about 
one-tenth  of  the  three  million  dollars  at  which  he  esti- 
mated the  cost  before  taking  the  contract  for  the  Gov- 
ernment. His  headquarters  were  at  Shreveport,  not 
far  from  the  point  where  the  Eed  Eiver  enters  Louisi- 
ana from  Arkansas. 

Shreveport,  the  second  city  of  Louisiana,  is  the 
center  of  a  territory  of  great  possibilities.  Timber,  oil, 
gas,  cotton  and  sugar-cane  prove  the  wisdom  of  Captain 
Shreve  when  he  pitched  his  camp  on  the  high  ground 
at  this  point.  Here  the  river  touches  the  remarkable 
backbone  of  West  Louisiana,  a  ridge  varying  in  width 
from  twenty  to  fifty  miles,  between  the  Sabine  Eiver 
on  the  west  and  Eed  Eiver  and  Calcasieu  Eiver  on  the 
east,  and  reaching  to  within  forty  miles  of  the  Gulf. 
Along  this  ridge  are  some  of  the  choicest  parts  of 
the  state. 

The  traveler  who  ascends  the  Mississippi  and  Eed 
Eivers  to  Shreveport,  then  goes  by  rail  along  the  ridge 
from  Shreveport  to  Lake  Charles — in  the  midst  of  the 
long-leaf  pine  region,  where  there  is  access  to  the  Gulf 
by  way  of  the  beautiful  Calcasieu  Eiver  and  the  canal 
fourteen  feet  deep  and  ninety  feet  wide — and  finally 
passes  to  New  Orleans,  across  the  southern  end  of  the 
state,  will  have  completed  a  triangular  trip  which  will 
enable  him  to  say  he  has  really  seen  Louisiana, 


16 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 

UNTIL  Texas  the  marvelous  is  actually  crossed 
from  east  to  west  and  from  north  to  south  it 
means  little  to  a  man  to  read  that  the  area  is 
more  than  two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  thousand  square 
miles.  But  when  the  Southern  Pacific  passenger  from 
New  Orleans  to  Los  Angeles  finds  himself  for  the 
greater  part  of  two  days  within  the  southwestern  em- 
pire, or  when  the  two-day  trip  from  Trinidad,  Colo- 
rado, to  Corpus  Christi  is  almost  all  of  it  within  the 
land  of  Houston,  the  vast  size  of  the  state — more  than 
five  times  that  of  Illinois  and  nearly  six  times  that  of 
Tennessee — is  appreciated. 

And  what  a  variety  of  surface  there  is  in  the  vast 
area  of  which  many  think — according  to  the  portion 
they  have  seen — as  a  region  of  uninteresting  flat  lands, 
or  a  series  of  depressions  known  locally  as  hog-wallows, 
or  a  succession  of  endless  barren  plains,  or  a  territory 
of  rugged  mountains!  In  fact,  the  state  contains  all 
these  interesting  regions  in  succession,  and  more. 
There  is  the  Coastal  Plain  or  Coast  Prairie,  the  For- 
ested Area  where  the  pine  woods  flourish,  the  fertile 
Black  Waxy  Prairie,  the  Grand  Prairie,  the  Central 
Denuded  Region,  the  Llano  Estacado  or  Staked  Plain — 
level,  grass-covered,  with  here  and  there  a  growth  of 
bear  grass  and  yucca — and  the  lands  across  the  Pecos 
where  the  mountains  rise  until  Ghmdalupe  Peak,  the 
highest  point  in  the  state,  is  ninety-five  hundred  feet 

242 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   HOUSTON 

above  the  sea.  Surely  there  is  ample  variety  in  Texas ! 
And  every  one  of  these  clearly  denned  portions  of  the 
state  is  as  large  as  many  another  state  in  the  Union ! 

Not  long  after  leaving  Lake  Charles,  Louisiana,  the 
Southern  Pacific  passenger  enters  the  region  of  the 
first  Texas  oil  bonanzas,  near  Beaumont,  well  within 
the  Coastal  Plain.  Once  the  city  was  dependent  on  its 
lumber  and  rice.  These  commodities  are  still  handled 
in  a  princely  manner,  but  oil  has  succeeded  in  pushing 
other  products  into  the  background. 

There  was  a  time  when  to  the  sportsmen  the  name 
Beaumont  brought  up  visions  of  ducks  and  geese  and 
quail  near  by,  as  well  as  bear  and  turkeys  in  the  Big 
Thicket,  fish  in  the  Neches  Eiver,  or  bathing  in  the 
warm  waters  of  the  Gulf  an  hour's  ride  away.  But 
now  most  people  forget  these  allurements  in  the  ex- 
citement of  listening  to  the  tales  of  those  who  have 
won  fortunes  or  who  think  they  are  just  on  the  point 
of  becoming  independent  through  the  wealth  hidden 
deep  in  the  earth  untold  ages  ago. 

The  oil  wells  ebb  and  flow,  the  boom  dies  down  only 
to  take  on  new  life,  but  the  city  keeps  on  growing  from 
year  to  year.  Why  shouldn  't  it,  when  its  citizens  have 
had  the  energy  to  make  it  a  seaport,  though  it  is  far 
inland,  by  means  of  the  twenty-six  foot  channel  in  the 
Neches,  of  which  several  hundred  ocean-going  ships 
take  advantage  each  year,  tying  up  for  a  season  at  one 
of  the  municipal  docks  on  the  water  front  thirty-five 
miles  long? 

Houston,  too,  has  triumphed  over  the  fifty  miles 
that  separate  it  from  the  Ghilf  by  the  construction  of  a 
deep-sea  channel  for  vessels  laden  with  oil  and  rice  and 
lumber.  For  the  building  of  the  channel  she  had  en- 

243 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

couragement  in  Buffalo  Bayou,  which  gave  its  name  to 
the  settlement  as  late  as  1849,  when  it  was  a  mere  ham- 
let. Yet  this  was  thirteen  years  after  the  grandiloquent 
advertisement  which  told  of  the  town  situated  *  *  at  the 
point  which  must  ever  command  the  trade  of  the  largest 
and  richest  portion  of  Texas. "  The  advertisement 
went  on  to  say,  "  Nature  seems  to  have  designated  this 
place  for  the  future  seat  of  government. ' ' 

It  was,  indeed,  the  temporary  location  of  the  capital 
of  the  Eepublic  of  Texas.  On  April  16, 1837,  the  execu- 
tive departments  were  removed  by  vessel  from  Colum- 
bia. The  same  schooner  carried  the  equipment  of  the 
Telegraph,  which,  before  leaving  Columbia,  said : ' '  The 
process  of  building  is  rapidly  advancing  in  Houston. 
The  building  intended  for  our  press  is 
nearly  finished." 

A  month  later,  however,  the  Telegraph  wailed  in  dis- 
appointment: "Like  others  who  have  confided  in 
speculative  things,  we  have  been  deceived;  no  build- 
ing has  even  been  nearly  finished  at  Houston  intended 
for  the  press ;  fortunately,  however,  we  have  succeeded 
in  renting  a  shanty,  which,  although  like  the  capitol  in 
this  place — 

"  Without  a  roof,  without  a  floor. 
Without  windows,  and  without  a  door, 

is  the  only  convenient  building  obtainable. ' ' 

When  Audubon  visited  Houston  in  1837  he  was  not 
enthusiastic.  "The  Buffalo  Bayou  had  risen  about  six 
feet,"  he  wrote,  "and  the  neighboring  prairies  were 
covered  with  water ;  there  was  a  wild  and  desolate  look 
cast  on  the  surrounding  scenery.  We  had  already 
passed  two  little  girls,  encamped  on  the  bank  of  the 

244 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 

bayou,  cooking  a  scanty  meal ;  shanties,  cargoes  of  hogs- 
heads, barrels,  etc.,  were  spread  about  the  landing,  and 
Indians,  drunk  and  hallooing,  were  stumbling  about  in 
the  mud  in  every  direction. ' ' 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  of  wading  through  water 
up  to  the  ankles  on  his  way  to  the  President's  man- 
sion, a  log  house  of  two  rooms  and  a  passage  between. 
Next  he  proceeded  to  the  capitol, ' '  as  yet  without  a  roof, 
while  the  floor,  benches  and  tables  of  both  houses  of 
Congress  were  as  well  saturated  with  water  as  our 
clothes  had  been  in  the  morning. ' ' 

Houston  has  become  one  of  the  proudest  cities  of 
Texas,  but  she  is  not  ashamed  of  the  heroic  days,  nor  of 
the  early  heroes  who  maintained  her  independence. 
Proudly  she  shows  the  visitor  to  San  Jacinto  battle- 
field, where  General  Sam  Houston  defeated  Santa  Anna 
and  paved  the  way  for  the  coming  of  the  Lone  Star 
State  into  the  Union. 

On  his  way  to  Houston  Audubon  entered  Galveston 
and  looked  on  many  reminders  of  the  war  so  recently 
ended.  "The  only  objects  of  interest  we  saw  were  the 
Mexican  prisoners;  they  are  used  as  slaves — made  to 
carry  wood  and  water  and  cut  grass  for  the  horses  and 
such  work;  it  is  said  that  some  are  made  to  draw 
the  plow. ' ' 

The  presence  of  the  Mexican  prisoners  on  Galveston 
Island  was  a  fit  sequel  to  the  history  of  this  bit  of 
low-lying  land  facing  the  Gulf.  The  first  visitors  came 
in  1686  when  La  Salle  discovered  the  bay.  In  1816  Jean 
Lafitte,  pirate  of  the  Gulf,  took  possession,  and,  when 
perhaps  one  thousand  discontended  men  flocked  to  his 
standard,  he  was  appointed  governor  of  the  island. 
His  power  increased  until  the  day — an  unfortunate  day 

245 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

for  him — when  he  ventured  to  lay  rough  hands  on  a 
ship  that  flew  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

The  real  beginning  of  the  modern  settlement  was  in 
1837,  the  year  of  Audubon  's  visit.  Since  that  time  there 
has  been  a  constant  struggle  with  untoward  conditions. 
The  dream  was  "to  have  Liverpool  ships  of  largest 
draught  at  the  very  docks."  This  was  the  statement 
made  in  1874  when  a  humorous  artist  pictured  the  un- 
loading of  a  schooner  at  Galveston — a  negro  with  a 
mule  and  a  cart,  over  the  hub  in  water,  driving  from 
schooner  to  shore ! 

To-day  Galveston  has  a  marvelously  complete  equip- 
ment. It  is  a  port  of  the  first  magnitude.  The  mam- 
moth sea  wall  bids  defiance  to  the  waves  that  once 
brought  destruction  and  death  in  their  wake.  Re- 
claimed from  the  sea  by  the  perseverance  of  undaunted 
citizens,  "the  Oleander  City"  welcomes  those  who  go 
there  once,  wondering,  perhaps,  if  they  will  not  be  bored 
by  the  languor  of  a  semi-tropical  seaside  town,  and 
remain  long  or  return  promptly,  because  they  are  enam- 
ored of  the  strange  but  desirable  combination  of  bustle 
and  rest,  change  and  stability.  This  combination  is 
typified  so  well  by  the  heroic  statue  of  Henry  Rosen- 
berg, the  Swiss  merchant-benefactor,  at  the  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Rosenberg  Avenues.  Of  this  statue 
the  Galveston  News  said,  at  the  time  of  the  unveiling : 

"Rising  in  silent  dignity  from  a  Galveston  espla- 
nade of  spreading  palms,  blossom-laden  oleanders,  and 
close-cropped  grass,  a  great  bronze  figure  looks  stead- 
fastly to  the  north,  out  over  the  plains  of  Texas.  It  is 
a  Texas  of  roaring  cities,  of  busy  towns,  of  crop-bearing 
fields  that  now  meets  the  gaze  of  the  tranquil  bronze 
face,  looking  out  on  harbors  filled  with  ocean  liners, 

246 


1 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 

across  the  coast  country  truck  gardens,  past  the  mid- 
state  fields  of  cotton,  to  the  horizon-bounded  plains 
where  cattle  thrive." 

The  statue  stands  near  the  upper  end  of  Galveston 
Island,  one  of  the  many  low  islands  that  fringe  the  long, 
curving  coast  line  of  Texas,  separating  the  waters  of 
the  Gulf  from  the  quiet  bays  and  lagoons  that  make 
the  harbors  where  ocean-going  vessels  enter,  and  where 
are  the  pleasure  resorts  to  which  Texans  and  those 
who  have  learned  the  joys  that  Texas  offers  gather  in 
the  time  of  the  state's  greatest  appeal.  When  is  that? 
Go  to  Texas  and  learn  for  yourself !  There  are  as  many 
opinions  on  this  point  as  there  are  seasons. 

The  next  of  the  islands  below  Galveston  Island  is 
Matagorda  Island,  which,  with  Matagorda  Peninsula 
on  the  northeast,  protects  the  waters  of  Matagorda 
Bay  and  San  Antonio  Bay,  notable  because  these  were 
entered  by  La  Salle  when  he  was  searching  for  the 
mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  One  of  his  two  ships  was 
wrecked.  Later  he  built  Fort  St.  Louis,  the  first 
European  settlement  in  Texas. 

The  pilgrim  who  follows  the  coast  to  the  southeast 
speedily  finds  Padre  and  Mustang  Islands,  with 
Aransas  Pass  and  Corpus  Christi  Pass,  the  narrow 
inlets  leading  to  glorious  Corpus  Christi  Bay,  eighteen 
miles  wide  and  more  than  twenty-five  miles  long,  haunt 
of  the  birds  that  delight  the  sportsman's  heart — geese, 
brant,  crane  and  ducks  of  many  kinds,  mallard,  pintail, 
widgeon,  canvas-back,  teal  and  blue-bill;  home  of  the 
red  fish,  the  speckled  trout,  the  Spanish  mackerel  and 
even  the  Silver  King,  or  leaping  tarpon ;  favorite  resort 
of  those  who  seek  bathing  beaches  where  conditions  are 
so  favorable  that  those  who  once  enter  the  water  forget 

247 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  hours  for  meals  while  they  gain  strength  for  cany- 
ing  the  responsibilities  of  later  days. 

Corpus  Christi  has  a  right  to  the  title  lovingly  given 
to  her,  "The  Naples  of  the  Gulf."  As  in  Naples,  skies 
there  are  azure,  and  the  sun-kissed  waters  borrow  the 
radiance  of  the  heavens.  And  as  Naples  defies  the  vol- 
cano Js  worst,  so  Corpus  Christi  rises  superbly  from 
the  heart-breaking  disaster  of  hurricane  and  tidal 
wave,  and  is  clothed  again  in  the  beauty  that  made 
Judd  Mortimer  Lewis  sing : 

When  the  hour  has  come  for  resting  and  for  dreams,  I  look  away, 
And  my  heart's  in  Corpus  Christi,  down  on  Corpus  Christi  Bay; 
I  see  her  like  a  maiden,  hands  outstretched  and  starry-eyed, 
Prairies  blossom-starred  behind  her,  with  her  pink  feet  in  the  tide. 

With  reluctance  the  Texas  pilgrim  leaves  Corpus 
Christi,  but  if  his  path  lies  up  the  Nueces  River  toward 
San  Antonio  regret  gives  way  to  anticipation  of  what 
the  City  of  the  Alamo  has  in  store.  This  metropolis 
of  Southern  Texas  would  be  remarkable  for  its  mineral 
springs,  its  sturdy  business  structures,  its  Medina 
Lake,  impounded  by  an  irrigation  dam  and  made  beau- 
tiful both  by  man  and  by  nature.  But  all  these  things 
are  overshadowed  in  the  mind  of  the  visitor  by  San 
Fernando  Cathedral,  built  in  1734,  and  by  the  near-by 
chain  of  Spanish  Missions  dating  from  the  eighteenth 
century — Missions  Espada,  San  Juan  and  Conception. 
Mission  San  Jose  dates  from  1720.  Its  cloisters,  statu- 
ary and  carving  are  of  perennial  interest.  Then  there 
is  the  Alamo,  fronting  the  beautiful  Alamo  Plaza,  where 
the  two  hundred  heroes  led  by  David  Crockett  held  at 
bay  four  thousand  Mexicans,  thus  giving  birth  to  the 
rallying  cry  that  later  cheered  the  Texans  in  their 
struggle  for  liberty. 

248 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 

San  Antonio  was  on  the  route  taken  by  the  old 
Mission  Fathers  when  they  went  from  Louisiana  to 
Southern  California,  protected  by  Spanish  cavalry. 
Their  road,  the  San  Antonio  Trail,  crossed  the  Col- 
orado River  eighteen  miles  below  the  present  site  of 
Austin.  The  commission  appointed  by  the  Republic 
of  Texas  to  select  a  site  for  the  capital  were  instructed 
to  seek  the  prettiest  spot  in  Texas,  between  the  San 
Antonio  Trail  and  the  Colorado  River.  They  knew 
where  to  go  because  a  few  months  earlier,  in  1838, 
President  Lamar,  while-  on  a  buffalo  hunt  on  the  upper 
Colorado,  stood  on  the  hill  where  is  now  the  admirable 
state  capitol  building.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent, 
looking  up  and  down  the  river  and  off  to  the  south. 
Then  he  said,  "This  should  be  the  seat  of  future  em- 
pire." So,  in  1839,  he  sent  the  site-seeking  commis- 
sioners, to  Montopolis,  a  group  of  cabins  near  the  well- 
remembered  hill.  The  commissioners,  too,  became  en- 
thusiastic, and  soon  afterward  Austin  was  born,  hav- 
ing been  named  for  Stephen  F.  Austin,  "  Father  of  the 
Republic."  A  one-story  temporary  capitol  was  built 
where  later  rose  the  walls  of  the  City  Hall.  The  busi- 
ness office  of  the  first  presidents  was  in  a  double  log 
cabin  near  the  present  business  center. 

To-day  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  as  late  at  1850 
there  were  but  six  hundred  and  twenty-nine  people 
where  to-day  thousands  of  residents  look  up  at  the 
solid  buildings,  ride  over  the  splendid  automobile  high- 
ways to  Lake  Austin,  Marble  Falls  and  Medina  Lake, 
roam  in  the  attractive  parks  or  fish  in  the  Colorado 
River,  whose  precipitous,  rocky  banks  tell  how  accurate 
was  the  judgment  of  those  who  thought  that  here  on 
the  hills  should  be  the  capital  of  an  empire. 

249 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Austin  on  the  Colorado  has  neighbors  to  the  south 
that  boast  their  location  on  rivers;  there  is  Waco  on 
the  Brazos  and  Fort  Worth  and  Dallas,  the  twin 
cities  on  the  Trinity.  Waco  takes  its  name  from  the 
Huaco  Indians,  whose  village  was  where  the  McLennan 
county  seat  now  stands.  '  *  Huaco ' '  means  '  *  the  bowl ' ' ; 
thus  the  Indian  lovers  of  the  picturesque  described  the 
situation  of  their  village  at  the  junction  of  the  Bosque 
with  the  Brazos,  where  natural  features  are  so  varied 
that  it  has  been  easy  for  Waco  to  set  apart  twenty 
parks  and  recreation  areas. 

Fort  Worth,  too,  speaks  of  other  days — the  days  of 
the  ranchers  who  marketed  there  the  cattle  from  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  acres.  And  still  the  down-town 
streets,  in  spite  of  their  mammoth  buildings,  give  their 
reminders  of  a  famous  shopping  center  on  the  day  when 
the  circus  comes  to  town.  Automobiles  have  displaced 
the  more  picturesque  conveyances  of  the  past,  but  when 
their  owners  park  them  on  the  busy  streets  it  is  easy 
to  think  of  them  as  wagons  waiting  at  convenient 
hitching  posts. 

But  when  those  machines  are  out  in  the  road  once 
more  what  opportunities  they  have  for  travel,  oppor- 
tunities that  would  have  made  the  ranchmen  stare.  All 
over  Tarrant  County  are  highways  of  superior  excel- 
lence, among  these  being  that  to  Lake  Worth,  largest 
artificial  body  of  water  in  the  Southwest,  the  delightful 
Meandering  Road  around  the  lake,  and  the  boulevard 
over  the  undulating  lands,  past  the  pecan  orchards  and 
through  the  flowers  that  are  found  between  Fort  Worth 
and  Dallas,  a  city  so  different  from  its  near-neighbor, 
yet  so  full  of  bustle,  business  and  beauty  that  it  is  typi- 
cal of  the  best  in  modern  Texas, 

250 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   HOUSTON 

Those  who  keep  to  the  prosaic  railway  will  find  it 
easy  to  go  among  these  cities  of  East  Texas.  But  how 
much  more  fortunate  is  the  traveler  by  automobile  who 
can  follow  the  Meridian  Highway  from  San  Antonio, 
through  Austin,  to  Waco  and  Dallas,  and  then  can 
take  the  National  Highway  to  Fort  Worth,  Weather- 
ford  and  Abilene  and  the  old  Spanish  Trail  to  El  Paso, 
sentinel  of  West  Texas,  on  the  Rio  Grande. 

But  from  Abilene  a  side  trip  should  be  taken  south 
to  the  Colorado  and  through  the  hill  country,  down 
to  Kimble  and  Kerr  counties,  a  region  of  wonderful 
beauty.  In  Kimble  County  are  the  Seven  Hundred 
Springs,  at  the  headwaters  of  the  Llano  River,  where 
the  water  gushes  from  the  rock  and  pours  down  the 
worn  face  of  a  huge  bluff,  creating  at  once  a  full-sized 
river.  A  few  miles  away,  at  the  point  of  union  of  the 
North  and  South  branches  of  the  Llano,  the  county- 
seat  town  of  Junction  nestles  in  the  valley  below 
Lovers'  Leap,  a  beetling  crag  far  above  the  river — 
still  another  of  the  spots  where  Indian  lovers,  despair- 
ing because  of  parental  objections  that  thwarted  them, 
leaped  to  union  in  death.  One  may  be  permitted  to 
doubt  the  story,  but  he  cannot  doubt  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape  of  valley  and  hill  spread  out  below  this 
elevated  spot. 

The  locomotive  has  not  yet  penetrated  to  Junction ; 
the  advanced  lines  of  the  railroad  are  encountered  at 
Kerrville,  in  Kerr  County,  whose  location  on  the 
Guadalupe  River  gives  it  easy  entrance  to  the  region 
a  few  miles  west  of  the  young  mountains,  which  are, 
in  reality,  foothills  of  the  Llano  Estacado.  Like  the 
Llano,  the  Guadalupe  becomes  a  river  just  when  it 
jumps  out  from  under  the  south  side  of  the  Llano 

251 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Estacado.  Campers  delight  to  linger  along  the  fifty 
miles  of  the  river's  banks.  One  of  them  gave  voice  to 
his  emotion  in  a  long  series  of  stanzas  that  are  full  of 
feeling,  even  if  the  meter  does  halt,  as  in  the 
final  stanza: 

Trouble  is,  a  little  outing  on  the  Guadalupe  will  prov« 
A  trial  to  your  heartstrings,  when  the  time  comes  to  move. 

Sometimes  the  trial  to  the  heartstrings  is  avoided  by 
moving  on  over  Medina  Hill  to  the  valley  of  the  Medina 
Biver,  by  way  of  the  scenic  road  far  above  a  deep  can- 
yon, then  up  a  hill  past  the  twin  flowing  wells  that  are 
little  lakes  fifty  feet  across,  on  to  Bandera  Pass,  the 
scene  of  famous  Indian  fights,  and  Camp  Verde,  where, 
as  young  lieutenants,  both  Robert  E.  Lee  and  Joseph 
E.  Johnston  had  some  of  their  first  experiences  at  an 
army  post.  Cattle  are  raised  now  on  the  site  of  the 
old  fort.  This  fort  was  the  home  of  one  of  a  drove  of 
camels  with  which  the  Government  experimented  when 
Jefferson  Davis  was  Secretary  of  War. 

From  Cape  Verde  the  road  turns  back  to  Kerrville, 
the  starting  point,  thus  completing  a  loop  of  fifty-four 
miles  through  fascinating  country. 

In  Kerrville  the  citizens  tell  with  pride  of  a  gov- 
ernor of  Texas  who  stood  on  a  hill  above  the  town  and 
said,  "I  fancy  this  is  a  little  the  most  beautiful  view 
in  the  world. ' '  These  citizens  will  not  own  that  there 
are  any  drawbacks  to  the  country  of  their  choice.  One 
of  them,  with  pardonable  partiality,  once  said:  "In 
the  summer  time  it  gets  hot  everywhere,  and  climate 
boosters  who  say  it  does  not  are  a  bunch  of  nature- 
fakers.  That  is  what  summer  is  for.  The  thermometer 
rises  up  about  as  high  here  as  it  does  in  other  places 

262 


MOUTH    OF    BIG    PAINT,    IN    KIMBLE    COUNTY,    TEXAS 


NORTH    PEAK,    CHISOS    MOUNTAINS,    TEXAS 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOUSTON 

of  the  same  latitude. ' '  Then,  of  course,  he  added  that 
there  is  a  difference  in  heat  and  gave  the  assurance  that 
Kerrville's  brand  of  aridity  is  the  best  possible  kind, 
since  the  town  is  not  in  the  arid  section  where  the  rocks 
are  blistered  and  the  underlips  of  the  horned  toads 
are  sunburnt ! 

It  is  not  necessary  to  retrace  the  route  from  Kerr- 
ville  to  the  National  Highway  at  Abilene  if  one  is  pre- 
pared to  take  roads  that  are  not  the  best,  though  they 
are  good.  For  directly  through  Kerrville  and  Junc- 
tion passes  a  road  that  leads  to  the  Pecos  River  and 
joins  the  Old  Spanish  Trail  perhaps  two  hundred  miles 
from  El  Paso,  the  only  large  city  along  the  two  thou- 
sand miles  of  Mexican  border. 

El  Paso  is  old,  unreasonably  old,  for  the  spot  was 
named  in  1598  by  Juan  de  Onate.  The  real  start  of  the 
American  city  was  nearly  three  centuries  later,  in  1882, 
when  the  first  railroad  reached  the  point  where  the  Eio 
Grande  Valley  cuts  the  central  plateau  among  the 
Rocky  Mountains  at  an  elevation  of  nearly  four  thou- 
sand feet.  Here  the  South  touches  hands  with  the 
West.  Within  easy  reach  of  the  city  are  monster  works 
of  the  men  of  to-day  like  the  Elephant  Butte  Dam; 
works  of  the  men  of  yesterday  like  the  Cave  dwellings 
of  a  prehistoric  race  over  the  line  in  Mexico,  and  the 
five  towns,  dating  from  1682,  each  of  which  boasts  its 
quaint  old  mission,  more  than  two  hundred  years  old; 
works  of  nature  like  the  Hueco  Tanks,  rock  formations 
of  overwhelming  grandeur  which  awed  the  emigrants 
who  passed  to  California  by  the  route  through  these 
wonders.  Then  there  is  Cloudcroft,  nine  thousand  feet 
high,  the  location  of  "the  highest  golf  links  in  the 
world,"  and,  far  below,  the  strange  White  Sands,  a 

253 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

wilderness  of  white  dunes  of  pure  gypsum,  thirty-five 
miles  long  and  fifteen  miles  wide,  looking  like  great 
banks  of  snow.  Close  to  these  are  the  Grand  Canyon 
of  the  Sacramento,  which  drops  fifteen  hundred  feet 
within  a  few  miles  and  is  traversed  by  an  overland 
automobile  highway,  the  upper  and  lower  falls  of  the 
Pefiasco  River,  and  Ruidoso  River,  brawling  over  the 
stones  and  forming  pools  in  which  the  trout  lurk  en- 
ticingly. Finally  there  are  the  Franklin  Mountains, 
whose  six  main  peaks  are  from  five  to  seven  thousand 
feet  high,  the  home  of  canyons  and  valleys,  cliffs  and 
springs,  cacti  and  flowers. 

But  it  is  folly  to  try  to  name  all  the  pleasures  in 
store  for  the  visitor  to  El  Paso  or  to  attempt  descrip- 
tions that,  at  best,  will  seem  tame  to  those  who  refuse 
to  go  flying  through  the  city  on  the  way  to  or  from 
California  instead  of  taking  advantage  of  the  stop- 
over eagerly  suggested  by  the  railroad. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
DOWN  IN  ARKANSAS 

HOW  many  people  would  include  Arkansas  in  the 
list  of  the  four  or  five  most  interesting  states 
of  the  South?  Yet  it  belongs  in  such  a  list. 
Many  would  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is,  in  many 
respects,  the  state  of  greatest  attractions.  At  any  rate, 
few  states  have  in  them  corners  less  known  than  some 
of  the  sections  of  Arkansas  and  better  worth  knowing 
than  this  state  whose  name  is  so  often  mispronounced 
as  it  is  spelled.  To  pronounce  it  otherwise  seems  to 
many  an  affectation,  though  La  Salle,  in  telling  of  his 
travels,  spoke  of  visiting  the  villages  of  the  Ar-kan-sa. 
In  1819  the  Act  of  Congress  creating  the  territory  of 
Arkansas  spelled  the  name  Arkansaw  nine  times.  And 
in  1881  the  General  Assembly  of  the  estate,  by  solemn 
edict,  stated  that  the  pronunciation  should  be  with  the 
final  letter  silent. 

There  is  something  in  Arkansas  for  everybody.  The 
geologist  will  find  satisfaction  in  the  "bottomless" 
Mammoth  Spring,  in  Fulton  County,  eighteen  acres  in 
extent,  with  a  flow  of  300,000  gallons  a  minute,  or  in  the 
strange  Sunken  Lands  of  the  northeastern  part  of  the 
state,  grim  reminders  of  the  New  Madrid  earthquake 
of  1811,  when  so  many  settlers  lost  their  homes  that 
they  were  permitted  to  locate  on  other  lands.  Among 
the  locations  so  made  were  those  on  which  Little  Kock 
and  Hot  Springs  are  now  found. 

255 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

For  the  sportsman  there  is  keen  delight  in  Big  Lake, 
near  the  Sunken  Lands,  a  pleasing  body  of  water 
formed  by  the  widening  of  Little  River.  There  he  will 
be  able  to  fish  to  his  heart 's  content  in  the  government 
preserves,  where  commercial  fishing  is  frowned  upon 
except  for  those  who  obey  the  strict  rules  laid  down. 
A  little  farther  south,  along  the  St.  Francis  River  and 
its  bayous,  there  is  some  of  the  best  black  bass  fishing 
in  America.  On  the  upper  waters  of  the  Ouachita, 
beyond  Hot  Springs,  the  bass  seem  to  be  waiting  for 
the  fly.  And  as  for  hunting  in  the  Ozarks !  The  man 
who  knows  how  to  go  there  after  the  foxes  and  wolves 
and  wildcats  can  spin  yarns  that  will  make  his  hearers 
resolve  to  turn  their  steps  thither. 

Let  the  lovers  of  the  beautiful  go  to  these  same 
Ozarks,  in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  state.  One 
hunter  said  that  the  glory  of  this  mountain  country  is 
so  great  that  the  seeker  after  game  must  be  on  his 
guard  lest,  instead  of  giving  his  attention  to  the  hunt, 
he  permit  himself  to  wander  far  afield.  "I  have  stood 
at  sunset  on  an  Ozark  peak,"  he  said,  "and  looked  out 
over  a  series  of  valleys  checkered  with  farms  reaching 
miles  and  miles  away,  all  lying  soft  under  the  smoke 
and  haze  of  evening,  and  have  thought  that  never,  in 
any  land,  have  I  seen  a  more  beautiful  country. " 

It  seems  strange  that  more  novelists  and  poets  have 
not  soaked  themselves  in  Arkansas  sunshine,  following 
the  example  of  Octave  Thanet  (Alice  French)  to  whom 
the  region  between  the  Black  and  the  White  Rivers  was 
so  well  known.  To  her  the  cascade  of  the  White  River 
was  an  inspiration,  and  her  plantation  home  at  Clover 
Bend  on  Black  River  was  a  retreat  for  which  she  longed 
whenever  she  was  called  away  from  it.  Lovingly  she 

256 


DOWN  IN  ARKANSAS 

spoke  of  "those  unimaginably  rich  mountain  ranges, 
sullenly  guarding  a  world's  store  of  metals,  those  mys- 
terious forests  hardly  tapped  by  the  lumberman's  axe, 
those  neglected,  untilled  fields  that  yield  luxuriantly 
even  to  the  most  careless  culture."  It  is  many  years 
since  the  words  were  written,  but  they  are  as  true 
to-day  as  a  generation  ago. 

Arkansas  has  also  rich  secrets  to  whisper  to  those 
whose  interest  is  in  the  romance  of  the  pioneer.  What 
would  be  wanted  more  alluring  than  the  record  of 
De  Soto  's  journey  in  1673 : 

"Seeing  there  was  no  way  of  reaching  the  South 
Seas,  we  returned  towards  the  North  and  afterwards 
in  a  Southwest  direction,  to  a  province  called  Quigata 
[supposed  to  be  near  Little  Eock],  where  we  found  the 
largest  village  we  had  yet  seen  in  all  our  travels.  It 
was  situated  on  one  of  the  branches  of  a  great  river. 
We  remained  here  six  or  eight  days  to  procure  guides 
and  interpreters,  with  the  intention  of  finding  the  sea. 
The  Indians  informed  us  there  was  a  province  eleven 
days  off  where  they  killed  buffalo,  and  where  we  could 
find  guides  to  conduct  us  to  the  sea." 

Or  there  is  the  story  of  Tontitown,  in  Northwestern 
Arkansas,  a  few  miles  from  Fayetteville,  which  began 
with  the  well-meant  plan  of  Austin  Corbin  to  colonize 
Italians  on  cotton  lands  along  the  Mississippi.  The 
early  death  of  the  philanthropist  threw  affairs  into  con- 
fusion, and  the  colonists  from  sunny  Italy  were  soon 
in  despair.  Many  of  them  died  in  the  swamps.  The 
appeal  of  the  survivors  for  help  was  heard  by  Father 
Bandini,  an  Italian  priest  in  New  York  City,  who  spent 
his  savings  in  reaching  the  colony.  There  he  inspired 
the  survivors,  about  one  hundred  of  them,  to  follow 

17  257 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

him  away  from  the  pestilential  swamps.  The  journey 
across  Arkansas  was  continued  through  the  winter 
months,  when  rabbits  were  trapped  for  food.  In  the 
spring  the  priest  borrowed  eight  hundred  dollars,  while 
some  of  the  men  worked  on  a  new  railroad  and  added 
their  savings  to  the  common  fund.  Thousands  of  acres 
were  bought  in  the  heart  of  the  virgin  forest.  There 
was  built  Tontitown,  named  for  one  of  La  Salle's  fel- 
low-explorers. In  the  new  town  everything  was  Italian ; 
the  homesick  people  would  have  it  so.  Their  houses  are 
like  the  Italian  houses.  Seeds,  trees,  plows  and  all  sorts 
of  tools  were  imported.  "The  eggs  of  all  kinds  of 
creatures  came  with  them,"  a  resident  of  the  village 
said  to  a  recent  visitor,  * '  and  now  we  have  even  our  own 
Italian  crickets  and  Italian  locusts, " 

Near-neighbor  to  Tontitown  is  Eureka  Springs, 
noted,  among  other  things,  for  the  glorious  views  from 
advantageous  heights,  scores  of  miles  in  every  direc- 
tion, for  strange  Pivot  Kock,  perched  precariously  on  a 
hillside,  and  for  its  proximity  to  the  strange  Crooked 
Creek,  that  loses  itself  in  the  sands  of  its  bed,  then 
passes  under  White  River  into  Missouri,  where  it 
empties  into  the  stream  with  which  it  thus  plays 
hide-and-seek. 

Farther  south  Fort  Smith,  from  its  seat  on  the 
Arkansas  River,  looks  southward  and  eastward  toward 
high  peaks  of  the  Ozarks  like  Petit  Jean  in  Yell  County 
and  Fourche  Mount  in  Polk  County,  whose  twenty-five 
hundred  feet  bring  them  within  reach  of  the  highest 
peak  in  the  state,  Magazine  Mountain.  Of  this  emi- 
nence Thomas  Nuttall,  in  his  ' '  Travels  into  the  Arkan- 
sas Territory"  (1821)  presented  a  drawing — a  pyramid 
with  its  top  removed,  wooded  on  sides  and  on  the  sum- 

258 


LOOKING    DOWN    BUFFALO    RIVKR    VALLEY,    ARKANSAS 


LITTLE    MISSOURI    FALLS,    ARKANSAS 


DOWN  IN  ARKANSAS 

mit.    He  said  that  the  side  which  presented  itself  to 
him  was  * '  almost  inaccessibly  precipitous. ' ' 

Down  near  the  center  of  the  state,  on  the  same 
Arkansas  Biver — whose  two  thousand  miles  makes  it 
the  longest  tributary  of  the  Mississippi  after  the  Mis- 
souri— Little  Bock,  the  capital,  has  its  site  fifty  feet 
above  the  stream.  One  bank  of  the  river  is  a  bold  preci- 
pice, known  as  Big  Bock,  while  opposite  there  is  a  penin- 
sula, reaching  out  into  the  stream.  This  is  called  Little 
Bock.  Its  name  was  given  to  the  city  that  has  been 
capital,  first  of  the  territory  and  later  of  the  state, 
since  1821.  The  capitol  building,  the  levee,  and  the 
National  and  Confederate  cemeteries  make  a  visit  to 
the  "City  of  Boses"  well  worth  while. 

Sixty  miles  southwest  of  Little  Bock,  over  rolling 
country,  lies  Hot  Springs,  oldest  and  smallest  and  best 
patronized  of  the  National  Parks,  where  the  Indians 
learned  to  go  in  search  of  health,  where  De  Soto  spent 
a  season,  where  to-day  from  one  to  two  hundred  thou- 
sand visitors  go  each  year.  There  they  find  not  only 
forty-six  thermal  springs,  gushing  from  the  base  of 
the  mountains,  but  wooded  hills,  winding  government 
roads,  comfortable  hotels  and  opportunities  for  rambles 
into  the  mysterious  mountains. 

Nearly  fifty  years  ago  a  writer  in  the  Detroit 
Evening  News,  after  a  visit  to  this  crowning  glory  of 
Arkansas,  wrote : 

"What!  Never  heard  of  Hot  Springs !  Why,  Hot 
Springs  is  the  prettiest  and  ugliest,  the  richest  and 
poorest,  the  nicest  and  meanest,  the  wettest  and  driest, 
the  hottest  and  coolest,  the  best  and  worst  place  in 
Arkansas.  They  did  their  best  to  hide  it  away  .  .  . 
in  a  little  valley  just  on  the  edge  of  the  Ozarks,  but  it 
steamed  so  it  could  not  be  hid.  .  .  . 

259 


"What  does  the  place  look  like  I  Oh,  just  as  though 
some  giant  in  bygone  days  had  split  the  mountain  open, 
about  two  rods  wide  and  three  miles  long,  and  then 
picked  up  some  big  hotels,  some  stores,  some  bathing- 
houses,  some  dwellings  and  thrown  them,  as  well  as  he 
could,  into  the  bottom  of  the  split. ' ' 

That  description  is  all  right  to-day,  if  there  is  omit- 
ted all  suggestion  of  anything  unpleasant.  Hot  Springs 
is  thoroughly  pleasant,  as  it  has  a  right  to  be.  For  it 
is  in  Arkansas. 


T 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
IN  AND  OUT  OF  LOUISVILLE 

"*-  -  ^HE  Ohio  is  the  most  beautiful  river  on 
earth,"  Thomas  Jefferson  declared.  Then 
what  a  claim  Kentucky  has  to  beauty  even 
before  the  state  is  entered,  since  it  possesses  twice  as 
much  of  the  bewildering  curves  of  La  Belle  Riviere  as 
any  other  state !  And,  having  formed  the  habit  of  cling- 
ing to  a  meandering  stream,  it  seemed  natural  to  choose 
for  its  western  boundary  a  portion  of  the  Mississippi 
Eiver  where  curves  are  at  their  worst.  Witness  the 
New  Madrid  bend,  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  state, 
where  a  steamboat  that  is  twenty  miles  away  by  chan- 
nel can  be  seen  across  a  mile  of  land.  Only  a  few  years 
ago  this  peninsula  was  three  miles  wide,  but  constant 
erosion  has  eaten  away  two-thirds  of  the  land.  Another 
strange  thing  about  this  double  bend  is  that  an  aviator, 
flying  across  it  at  a  carefully  chosen  spot,  would  pass 
from  Missouri  into  Kentucky,  from  Kentucky  into 
Missouri  again,  then  into  Tennessee.  The  first  bit  of 
Kentucky  crossed  is  the  mile-wide  peninsula,  orphaned 
from  its  parent  state  by  the  river  and  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  the  river  and  on  the  fourth  side 
by  Tennessee. 

About  midway  of  the  noble  river  boundary,  at  the 
Falls  of  the  Ohio — rapids  formed  by  a  ledge  of  lime- 
stone— pioneers  stopped  in  1778  and  made  the  first  set- 
tlement, on  the  site  of  Louisville.  They  used  good 
judgment  in  choosing  this  hill-surrounded  spot.  A 
traveler  of  1792  spoke  of  the  delightful  and  sublime 

261 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

situation  and  declared  that  the  rumbling  noise  of  the 
falls  would  tend  to  "exhilarate  the  spot,  and  give  a 
cheerfulness  even  to  sluggards. "  He  was  sure  that  the 
place  would  soon  become  a  flourishing  town. 

The  traveler's  judgment  was  vindicated.  In  1799 
Congress  made  Louisville  a  port  of  entry,  collectors 
there  being  charged  with  the  duty  of  preventing  the 
smuggling  of  goods  from  New  Orleans,  then  a  foreign 
port.  The  importance  of  the  town  thus  dignified  was 
increased  by  the  emigrants  who  floated  down  the  river, 
and  the  ever-increasing  trade  from  Pittsburgh.  In  1825 
the  canal  around  the  falls  was  begun,  and  Louisville 
was  well  launched  on  the  triumphant  career  which,  in 
1818,  attracted  George  Keats  from  England.  There 
he  grew  wealthy,  in  spite  of  the  warning  of  his  poet 
brother,  John  Keats,  "Those  Americans  will,  I  am 
afraid,  still  fleece  you. ' ' 

Another  early  English  visitor  to  Louisville  was 
Charles  Dickens,  whose  uncomplimentary  but  interest- 
ing descriptions  in  "Martin  Chuzzlewit"  and  in  the 
"American  Notes"  do  not  agree  with  things  others 
have  told  of  the  town  in  the  early  days.  They  seem 
impossible  to  modern  visitors  who  carry  away  with 
them  delightful  memories  of  their  stay  in  the  city  of 
stirring  business  activity  and  stalwart  home  life,  whose 
trees  and  parks  and  boulevards  fit  in  so  well  with  the 
easy  sweep  of  the  broad  river  and  the  plunge  of  the 
floodwaters  over  the  limestone  ledge,  so  long  a  barrier 
to  navigation. 

That  harmonious  picture  was  in  the  mind  of  a  local 
author,  who,  in  preparing  a  little  biography  for  private 
circulation,  penned  a  pleasing  description  of  the  city. 
The  starting  point  was  on  Third  Avenue : 

262 


FOURTH    AVEXUE,    LOUISVILLE,    KENTUCKY 


3 


IN  AND  OUT  OF  LOUISVILLE 

"To  the  south  run  long  lines  of  brick  houses  edged 
with  the  greenest  grass  and  shaded  by  maples,  oaks 
and  poplars,  in  all  their  Kentucky  symmetry.  The 
avenue  ends  some  miles  away  at  a  woodland  park  encir- 
cling a  long  line  of  hills.  Toward  the  north  the  street 
leads  through  the  business  section  straight  into  the 
Ohio  River,  broad,  slow-moving,  except  where,  near 
the  Indiana  shore,  it  rushes  over  rocks.  To  the  west 
Louisville  stretches  with  even  streets  bent  slightly  here 
and  there,  far  beyond  Central  Park  with  the  fairest 
trees  the  heart  of  a  city  ever  knew,  beyond  the  Cabbage 
Patch  and  Mrs.  Wiggs'  neighborhood,  until  the  river 
again  becomes  the  boundary  as  it  curves  around  the 
Indiana  hills.  On  the  eastern  side  the  city  merges  into 
the  characteristically  dimpled  landscape  of  Mocking- 
bird Valley,  Anchorage  and  Pewee  Valley,  the  home 
of  the  Little  Colonel." 

It  is  so  delightful  to  be  in  Louisville  that  there  is 
apt  to  be  regret  on  leaving  the  city — unless  there  is  the 
pleasant  anticipation  of  a  journey  to  some  one  of  the 
many  attractive  spots  so  easily  accessible  from  this 
as  a  starting  point. 

One  of  these  enticing  regions  is  near  Bardstown,  in 
Nelson  County,  less  than  fifty  miles  to  the  southeast. 
The  lover  of  beauty  will  find  satisfaction  everywhere 
in  the  country,  but  the  archeologist  will  want  to  go  to 
the  remnants  of  prehistoric  parallel  walls  near  the 
turnpike  between  Louisville  and  Nashville,  four  miles 
from  Bardstown.  Their  size  and  massiveness  are  cause 
for  wonder.  Unfortunately  the  owner  of  the  land  sold 
much  of  the  stone  to  a  contractor  who  wanted  it  for 
use  in  rebuilding  the  turnpike,  but  there  is  enough  left 
to  stir  the  imagination  of  the  beholder.  Who  were 

263 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  builders,  and  what  relation  did  these  walls  have 
to  the  two  never-failing  springs,  each  about  five  hun- 
dred feet  distant  ? 

Farther  south  in  the  same  country,  in  the  midst  of 
rugged  surroundings,  is  a  silent  community  that  speaks 
of  the  old  world  rather  than  the  new — Gethsemane 
Abbey,  the  monastery  where  some  ninety  monks  spend 
their  days  in  contemplation  or  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
broad  acres  that  have  been  won  from  the  wilderness 
and  made  fertile  by  constant  toil.  Life  in  the  abbey 
has  been  pictured  with  great  skill  by  James  Lane  Allen 
in  his  story,  "The  White  Cowl." 

What  a  contrast  to  the  Abbey  is  furnished  by  the 
chaste  memorial  near  Hodgenville,  a  few  miles  south, 
built  about  the  log  cabin  birthplace  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, whose  life  was  spent  to  such  wonderful  pur- 
pose that  more  than  half  a  century  after  his  death 
biographers  are  still  trying  to  interpret  him  for  the 
later  generations ! 

A  trip  from  Louisville  that  should  be  taken  no  mat- 
ter what  else  is  omitted,  is  south  less  than  one  hundred 
miles  along  the  turnpike  to  Nashville,  across  Green 
River,  which  has  carved  a  path  for  itself  through  the 
sandstone  and  limestone  plateau  more  than  three  hun- 
dred feet  deep,  to  the  wonderful  cave  region  of  Ken- 
tucky, where  scores  of  caverns  honeycomb  the  limestone 
down  to  a  point  near  the  level  of  the  river. 

Those  who  seek  the  cave  region  by  automobile  will 
see  enough  of  beauty  to  make  them  appreciate  the  de- 
scription written  by  John  Muir  when  the  country  was 
not  so  well  known  as  it  is  to-day.  He  marveled  at  "the 
lofty,  curving  ranks  of  swelling  hills  .  .  .  concaved 
valleys  of  fathomless  verdure  and  .  .  .  lordly  trees 

264 


IN  AND  OUT  OF  LOUISVILLE 

with  the  nursing  sunlight  glancing  in  the  leaves  upon 
the  magnificent  masses  of  shade  embosomed  among 
their  wide  branches. ' ' 

If  the  trip  is  made  by  railroad,  the  train  may  be  left 
at  Cave  City;  from  there  a  branch  road  runs  a  few 
miles  to  Mammoth  Cave,  the  best  known  of  the  three 
caves,  "the  entrance  to  which,"  it  has  been  said,  "could 
be  covered  by  an  equilateral  triangle  measuring  hardly 
more  than  three  miles. ' ' 

Within  ten  miles  of  Mammoth  Cave  Muir  found  a 
farmer  who  had  never  been  to  what  he  called  disdain- 
fully "only  a  hole  in  the  ground."  But  a  little  later 
Bayard  Taylor  thought  it  worth  while  to  travel  far  to 
enter  the  seventy-foot  arch,  in  the  midst  of  beautiful 
surroundings,  which  to  the  farmer  was  only  a  hole. 
When  he  came  out  he  said : 

"I  have  been  twelve  hours  underground,  but  I  have 
gained  an  age  in  a  strange  and  hitherto  unknown  world ; 
an  age  of  wonderful  experiences  and  an  exhaustless 
store  of  sublime  and  lovely  memories.  Before  taking 
a  final  leave  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  however,  let  me 
assure  those  who  have  followed  me  through  it  that  no 
description  can  do  justice  to  its  sublimity  or  present  a 
fair  picture  of  its  manifold  wonders.  It  is  the  greatest 
natural  curiosity  I  have  ever  visited,  Niagara  not  ex- 
cepted.  He  whose  expectations  are  not  satisfied  by  its 
marvelous  avenues,  domes  and  starry  grottoes  must 
either  be  a  fool  or  a  demigod. ' ' 

Mammoth  Cave,  with  its  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
of  avenues,  was  discovered  in  1809,  but  the  entrance 
to  Colossal  Cavern — smaller  but  by  many  considered 
not  less  marvelous — was  not  found  until  1895.  In  the 
meantime  thousands  of  visitors  made  pilgrimage  to  the 

265 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

region  of  Green  Eiver  to  see  the  caves.  And  still  a  few 
go  that  way.  But  why  do  not  more  go?  The  district 
should  be  made  a  National  Park.  There  is  talk  of  a 
Mammoth  Cave  Park;  a  bill  for  its  erection  has 
been  before  Congress.  Surely  such  a  bill  will  some 
day  be  made  law.  And  when  it  is  there  will  be  a 
renewal  of  interest  in  the  underground  wonders  of 
central  Kentucky. 

Those  who  are  wise  will  not  wait  until  that  time, 
but  will  choose  to  go  when  the  country  is  almost  as  wild 
as  in  the  days  of  which  Muir  and  Bayard  Taylor  wrote. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
DOWN  THROUGH  THE  BLUE  GRASS 

THERE  are  many  ways  of  entering  Kentucky's 
famous  Blue  Grass  country  from  the  north. 
One  of  the  best  of  these  is  by  means  of  the  Ken- 
tucky Eiver,  winding  along  through  the  fields  of  grain 
and  hemp  and  alfalfa  and  blue  grass  and  tobacco,  to 
the  east  of  Shelby  County,  called  "the  Jersey  Isle  of 
America,"  to  Frankfort,  capital  of  the  state,  whose 
royal  situation  on  the  bending  river,  flowing  between 
limestone  bluffs  with  green  billowy  hills  all  around, 
must  ever  call  forth  exclamations  of  delight.  But  a 
prospect  even  more  splendid  is  the  reward  of  those  who 
climb  the  hill  to  the  beautiful  capitol  building.  From 
the  dome  there  is  spread  out  a  vast  map  of  some  of  the 
state's  wildest  and  most  beautiful  scenery.  In  this  the 
men  of  the  mountains  take  keen  delight  as  they  guide 
their  rafts  of  lumber  down  to  market,  passing  between 
deep  gorges  that  are  comparable  to  the  Palisades  of 
the  Hudson. 

Other  approaches  from  the  north  are  from  Coving- 
ton,  opposite  Cincinnati,  by  way  of  the  railroad,  or — 
better  still — along  the  Covington  and  Lexington  pike, 
once  a  buffalo  trail,  later  a  stage  road,  now  a  part  of 
the  Dixie  Highway.  For  many  miles  this  highway, 
keeping  close  to  the  railroad,  gives  opportunity  for  an 
intimate  study  of  the  rich  country  where  fine  horses 
feeding  in  the  valley  meadows  and  hospitable  homes 
nestling  deep  in  the  groves,  make  the  traveler  appre- 
ciate the  enthusiasm  of  Imlay,  Kentucky's  first  his- 

267 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

torian,  who,  in  1792,  said  that  "Lexington  is  nearly 
central  of  the  finest  and  most  luxuriant  country,  per- 
haps, on  earth. ' ' 

At  that  time  the  town  was  already  nearing  its  ma- 
jority. Among  the  first  visitors  to  its  site,  it  is  said, 
were  hunters  from  Boonesboro  (or  "Boone's  Burrow," 
as  one  writer  gave  the  name).  They  were  encamped 
where  the  city  has  since  risen  when  news  came  to  them 
of  the  battle  of  Lexington.  At  once  they  named  the 
encampment  after  the  town  where  the  Massachusetts 
heroes  had  boldly  faced  their  enemies.  At  least  this 
is  the  tradition  that  is — to  quote  the  Lexington  Herald 
— not  lightly  to  be  questioned  or  cast  aside  as  pure 
fiction.  Lexingtonians  prefer  to  rest  on  Bancroft's 
acceptance  of  the  tradition. 

Before  the  town  was  laid  out  frontiersmen  were 
made  curious  by  strange  piles  of  stones,  curiously 
wrought,  in  the  woods  where  Lexington  now  stands. 
Under  the  surface  of  the  ground  they  found  other 
stones,  then  artificial  caverns,  catacombs  in  fact,  and 
further  indications  that  these  were  the  remains  of  un- 
known builders  centuries  before  the  coming  of  the 
white  men. 

Above  these  ancient  remains  Lexington  was  founded 
in  1779.  One  of  the  first  buildings  was  the  blockhouse, 
built  at  what  is  to-day  the  corner  of  Main  and  Mill 
Streets.  Out  from  the  gates  one  day  went  Alexander 
McConnell,  in  search  of  deer.  Five  Indians  captured 
him  and  led  him  away  toward  the  Ohio  River.  But  be- 
fore long  he  managed  to  kill  three  of  his  captors.  Giv- 
ing the  others  the  slip,  he  returned  to  the  blockhouse, 
where  he  was  received  with  amazement  by  those  who 
had  given  him  up. 

268 


DOWN  THROUGH   THE   BLUE   GRASS 

Without  the  walls  of  the  blockhouse  was  a  log  school 
where  John  McKinney  taught.  Once,  while  waiting  for 
his  pupils,  a  wildcat  attacked  him,  hooking  crooked 
teeth  about  one  of  his  ribs.  His  call  for  aid  brought 
assistance.  " Don't  be  alarmed, "  he  said.  "It  is  only  a 
cat  I  have  caught.  I  need  help  in  killing  itx"  Freed 
from  the  animal,  he  went  into  the  schoolhouse  and 
taught  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

That  first  school  had  a  worthy  successor  in  Tran- 
sylvania Seminary,  chartered  in  1780  at  Danville,  and 
removed  to  Lexington  a  few  years  later.  Daniel  Boone 
was  one  of  the  jurors  appointed  to  condemn  land  for 
its  use,  and  George  Washington  and  John  Adams  were 
among  the  first  subscribers  to  its  funds. 

One  of  the  early  citizens  attracted  to  Lexington  was 
Henry  Clay.  In  1797  he  entered  the  bustling  town. 
"Here,"  he  said,  "I  established  myself,  without  pa- 
trons, without  the  favor  of  the  great  or  opulent, 
without  the  means  of  paying  my  weekly  board,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  bar  uncommonly  distinguished  by 
eminent  members." 

Eight  years  later  he  bought  land  on  the  pike  lead- 
ing to  Richmond  and  made  his  home  there.  This  is- 
the  site  of  Ashland,  one  of  the  historic  shrines  to  which 
patriots  turn  their  steps  in  ever-increasing  numbers. 
A  part  of  the  estate  has  been  cut  up  into  building  lots 
for  encroaching  Lexington,  but  the  mansion  where 
Clay's  favorite  son  lived  will  be  preserved. 

The  first  session  of  the  Kentucky  legislature  was 
held  at  Lexington  in  1792,  but  the  capital  was  removed 
to  Frankfort  the  next  year.  This  was  the  year  of  the 
trial  trip  of  the  seamboat  built  by  Edward  West  on  a 
portion  of  the  Elkhorn,  dammed  for  the  purpose.  The 

269 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

model  of  the  vessel  was  destroyed  when  the  Patent 
Office  at  Washington  was  burned  in  1814.  But  the 
memory  of  the  exploit  remained.  In  1816  the  Ken- 
tucky Gazette,  when  speaking  of  the  departure  of  a 
steamer  from  Cincinnati  for  New  Orleans,  mentioned 
the  fact  that  it  was  "worked  on  a  plan  invented  by  Mr. 
West  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  and  in  a  manner  dis- 
tinct from  any  other  steamboat  now  in  use." 

Fifteen  or  sixteen  years  after  this  loyal  utterance, 
a  Lexington  mechanic  built  the  "Western  Star,"  one  of 
the  first  locomotive  engines  produced  in  this  country. 
A  writer  in  a  local  paper,  after  telling  of  its  ability 
to  draw  a  car  at  a  speed  of  eight  miles  an  hour,  said, 
"We  never  expected  to  travel  by  the  aid  of  steam,  but 
so  it  is. ' '  Yet  the  time  soon  came  when  steam  was  used 
in  the  railroad  from  Lexington  to  Frankfort. 

When  Henry  Clay  first  saw  Lexington  there  were 
sixteen  hundred  people  in  the  town.  By  1832  it  had  im- 
proved so  rapidly  that  the  following  description  was 
proudly  written  of  it :  "  The  town  buildings  in  general 
are  handsome  and  some  are  magnificent.  Few  towns  in 
the  West  or  elsewhere  are  more  delightfully  situated. 
Its  environs  have  a  singular  softness  of  landscape,  and 
the  town  wears  an  air  of  neatness,  opulence  and  repose, 
indicating  leisure  and  steadiness,  rather  than  the  bustle 
of  business  and  commerce." 

That  last  sentence  is  now  hardly  true  to  the  facts, 
but  the  next  statement  might  have  been  made  to-day: 
"The  people  are  addicted  to  giving  parties,  and  the 
tone  of  society  is  fashionable ! '  ' 

If  it  is  possible  to  spend  but  one  day  in  Lexington — 
the  visitor  who  cannot  stay  longer  is  to  be  profoundly 
pitied — the  day  chosen  should  be- Court  Day,  the  second 

270 


k. 


) 

K   « 
fe  02 


DOWN  THROUGH  THE  BLUE  GRASS 

Monday  of  the  month,  a  survival  of  primitive  life.  On 
that  day  the  people  from  all  around  throng  with 
their  wares  to  the  city,  eager  to  dispose  of  them  by 
barter.  They  gather  on  Cheapside,  bringing  mules  and 
horses  and  carriages,  cattle  and  sheep  and  produce. 
Negroes  are  there  with  second-hand  flat-irons,  razors, 
hoes,  guns.  Here  is  an  old  darkey  and  his  dog  singing 
a  duet — that  is,  he  sings  and  the  dog  yelps.  Over  yon- 
der a  trader  mounts  a  wagon  seat  and  calls:  "What 
will  you. give  me  for  the  horse — perfectly  sound  horse? 
What  do  you  bid  I  Seven  I  'm  bid ;  give  me  ten ! ' ' 

"These  Court  Days  have  a  fascination  for  me,"  a 
resident  said  to  the  author,  "I  never  weary  of  them. 
In  fact,  I  delight  in  everything  about  the  place.  I  have 
lived  in  California,  in  Texas,  in  Virginia,  in  the  East, 
but  I  feel  that  here  is  the  most  beautiful  section  of 
America.  There  is  the  grateful  mellowness  of  the  old 
Lexington  life.  It  has  the  sweetness  of  age,  a  really 
ripe  culture.  To  me  the  city  stands  for  the  gentle,  the 
natural,  the  refined,  the  kindly.  The  Kentuckian  feels 
deeply,  though  he  is  unable  to  give  expression  to  his 
feelings.  They  are  suppressed.  When  they  do  finally 
find  expression  there  is  a  real  eruption. 

"And  down  here  in  the  Blue  Grass  people  know 
how  to  get  real  satisfaction  from  life.  For  instance, 
on  Sunday  they  like  to  take  their  relatives  home  from 
church,  as  well  as  the  minister.  And  what  a  dinner 
they  serve !  Let  me  tell  you  of  a  sample  meal.  Mind 
you,  I  am  not  speaking  of  a  set  company  dinner,  or  a 
dinner  in  the  house  of  a  landowner,  but  a  casual  every- 
Sunday  dinner  in  the  house  of  a  tenant  farmer,  whose 
Cousin  Ben  Allen  and  Uncle  Jim  Arthur  and  Aunt 
Sarah  Boyd  and  all  the  rest  are  gathered  about  the 

271 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

board.  (Bemember  that  it  is  a  matter  of  courtesy  al- 
ways to  call  those  about  the  table  by  two  names — their 
own  name  and  the  family  name,  of  which  they  are  so 
proud.)  This  is  what  the  twelve  or  fourteen  at  table 
eat :  Corn  bread,  perfect  as  only  Kentucky  women  and 
cooks  know  how  to  make  it.  Beaten  biscuit.  Hot  bis- 
cuit. Probably  light  bread.  Whole  country  ham,  pref- 
erably not  less  than  one  year  old  and  brought  on  the 
table  whole.  Boast  turkey  or  chicken.  Some  kind  of 
beef  in  one  of  a  number  of  forms.  Gravy  with  dressing. 
Fish  salad.  Escalloped  cabbage.  Sweet  corn  as  a  cus- 
tard. Pineapples  or  apples  or  similar  fruit  served  with 
whipped  cream.  White  potatoes,  baked  or  mashed, 
swimming  in  butter.  Either  buttered  or  candied  sweet 
potatoes,  piping  hot.  All  kinds  of  relishes,  pimento 
cheese,  pickles,  celery,  chow-chow.  Ice-cream  or 
peaches  covered  with  whipped  cream  and  three  or  four 
varieties  of  cake.  .  .  .  And  the  cooking  is  abso- 
lutely perfect. " 

The  cooks  of  to-day  inherit  their  cunning  from 
famous  women  like  Jessamine  Douglas,  in  whose  honor 
Jessamine  County,  to  the  south  of  Lexington,  took  its 
name;  she  lost  her  life  while  hurrying  to  warn  the 
settlers  of  the  approach  of  hostile  Indians. 

The  southern  boundary  of  Jessamine  County  is 
made  by  the  Kentucky  Biver,  which  the  railway  crosses 
at  a  point  where  the  palisades  are  boldest.  The  track 
passes  from  cliff  to  cliff  on  High  Bridge,  said  to  be  the 
"highest  structure  of  the  kind  over  a  navigable 
stream. ' '  More  than  three  hundred  feet  below  the  track 
the  river  flows  on  toward  the  Ohio.  The  view  from  the 
bridge  is  so  magnificent  that  the  passengers  wish  they 
might  pause  there  for  hours. 

272 


DOWN  THROUGH  THE  BLUE   GRASS 

But  in  the  neighborhood  is  so  much  of  interest  that 
a  stopover  should  be  made  if  possible.  There  is  the 
cave  in  the  cliff  where  Boone  is  said  to  have  hidden 
from  the  Indians.  South  of  the  river,  west  of  the 
bridge,  a  little  Shaker  community,  Pleasant  Hill,  is  ap- 
proached by  a  primitive  ferry.  Long  ago  the  Shakers 
selected  the  spot  because  of  its  great  beauty.  Only  a 
few  of  them  are  left,  and  these  will  soon  be  gone. 

Within  easy  reach  of  High  Bridge  are  Harrodsburg 
— the  first  permanent  settlement  in  Kentucky,  founded 
in  1774  by  the  friend  and  companion  of  Daniel  Boone, 
Captain  James  Harrod — and  Danville,  where  was  held, 
in  1784,  the  first  constitutional  convention  to  consider 
the  separation  of  Kentucky  from  Virginia. 

Danville  is  well  within  the  Blue  Grass  Country. 
The  southern  limit  is  twenty  miles  farther  south,  where 
the  railroad  pierces  King's  Mountain  through  a  tunnel 
almost  four  thousand  feet  long.  On  the  southern  side 
of  the  mountain  the  country  becomes  more  rugged,  as 
if  in  anticipation  of  the  crossing  of  the  Cumberland 
River  where  it  comes  closest  to  the  Blue  Grass  Country. 
The  choice  spot  in  this  section  of  the  stream  is  twelve 
miles  from  the  crossing — Cumberland  Falls,  whose  per- 
pendicular drop  of  eighty  feet  follows  a  series  of  rapids 
that  make  fit  termination  to  the  tour  down  through 
the  Blue  Grass. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
i 

AMONG  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

STRICTLY    speaking,    the    mountains    of    Ken- 
tucky are  merely  sturdy  hills.     But  the  com- 
bination of  steep  hills  and  deep  valleys  seems 
to  put  them  in  the  mountain  class.    At  any  rate,  it  is 
difficult  to  convince  the  rambler  through  the  thirty 
hill  counties  of  the  state  that  most  of  the  eminences 
range  only  from  three  hundred  to  eight  hundred  feet 
above  the  valley.   He  prefers  to  think  of  them  as  moun- 
tains.   And  why  not? 

At  any  rate,  the  pioneers  who  came  over  Boone's 
Wilderness  Eoad  and  approached  Kentucky  through 
Cumberland  Gap,  where  Kentucky,  Tennessee  and  Vir- 
ginia meet,  would  probably  have  laughed  at  anyone 
who  had  the  temerity  to  make  light  of  the  difficulties 
by  referring  to  the  heights  about  them  as  hills. 

The  successors  of  these  pioneers  note  with  appre- 
ciation how  the  mountains  make  a  stately  bow  to  those 
who  pass  through  them  at  this  point  which  has  been 
called  "the  most  significant  and  suggestive  place  in 
America;  for  while  Plymouth  Eock  was  the  landing 
place  of  the  Puritans,  Jamestown  of  the  Cavaliers, 
Philadelphia  of  the  Quakers,  and  Charleston  of  the 
Huguenots,  it  was  through  Cumberland  Gap  that  both 
Eoundhead  and  Huguenot,  Puritan  and  Cavalier 
passed  with  the  sober  Quaker  on  the  way  to  the 
Golden  West." 

274 


AMONG   THE   KENTUCKY   MOUNTAINS 

The  town  of  Cumberland  Gap  is  not  remarkable  for 
size,  but  its  location  amid  the  mountains  is  wonderful. 
Above  the  railroad  that  takes  advantage  of  the  natural 
gateway  rise  rocky  heights  which  should  be  climbed  for 
the  sake  of  some  of  the  most  memorable  views  in  the 
land.  Here  Daniel  Boone  must  have  stood — for  it  was 
his  way  to  go  to  every  place  of  beauty  in  reach.  Mem- 
ories of  him  still  cluster  about  the  road,  for  fourteen 
markers  have  been  set  up  along  the  route  first  pointed 
out  by  him.  One  of  these  markers  is  placed  near  the 
point  where  he  entered  Kentucky,  high  above  what  has 
with  propriety  been  called  one  of  the  world's  most 
beautiful  highways. 

John  Fox  loved  these  mountains  and  the  people  who 
lived  among  them — "a  race  whose  descent  is  unmixed 
English,  upon  whose  lips  linger  words  and  forms  of 
speech  that  Shakspere  heard  and  used.  ...  A 
strange  people,  proud,  hospitable,  good-hearted  and 
murderous.  Religious,  too,  they  talk  chiefly  of  homicide 
and  the  Bible.  ...  A  people  living  like  pioneers, 
singing  folk-songs  centuries  old,  talking  the  speech  of 
Chaucer,  and  loving,  hating,  fighting  and  dying  like 
the  clans  of  Scotland." 

Fox  found  his  fame  in  these  mountains.  Over  in 
Breathitt  County,  home  of  the  feud,  he  discovered 
"Hell-fer-Sartain  Creek,"  and  told  of  it  and  of  some 
of  those  who  lived  on  it  in  a  seven-hundred  word  story 
that  made  his  name  known  to  thousands.  Later  he 
wrote  of  another  creek  called  Kingdom  Come,  and  gave 
directions  for  reaching  it.  "Go  down  Black  Moun- 
tain," he  said,  "and  down  the  Kentucky  to  Whitesburg 
in  Letcher  County,  and  then  on  down  the  middle  fork 
of  Kentucky  River  and  strike  the  mouth  of  the  heavenly 

275 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

named  stream/'  This  is  the  country  of  "The  Little 
Shepherd, "  and  the  scene  of  "The  Trail  of  the 
Lonesome  Pine." 

One  of  the  charms  of  this  mountain  region  is  the 
custom  of  singing  ballads  of  home  composition.  This 
custom  tells  of  the  Scotch,  Irish  and  English  origin  of 
the  people.  The  ballads  are  frequently  accompanied  on 
an  instrument  that  is  itself  a  survival  of  early  days — 
the  dulcimer,  described  as  "a  violin  with  greatly  nar- 
rowed and  elongated  body  and  shortened  neck,  made  of 
walnut  or  maple  wood,  strung  with  three  strings 
plucked  by  a  crow-quill  held  in  the  right  hand.  The 
melody  is  produced  by  the  pressure  of  a  bit  of  reed  in 
the  left  hand  upon  the  proper  fret  in  the  finger-board 
lying  underneath  the  strings,  as  in  a  mandolin."  Of 
the  three  strings,  only  the  first  is  thus  touched,  and 
with  the  left  hand. 

At  Hindman,  in  Knott  County,  there  is  a  mission 
school,  one  of  whose  teachers,  Ann  Cobb,  has  written 
an  appealing  bit  of  verse  that  speaks  of  the  home  life  of 
these  sturdy  people  of  the  Highlands  and  uses  some 
of  the  quaint  language  that  tells  of  their  English  origin. 
The  searcher  for  the  antique  has  penetrated  even 
among  these  people  with  his  offer  of  gold,  but  the 
stanzas  indicate  that  he  is  not  always  successful : 

Dulcimore  over  the  fireboard,  a-hanging  sence  allus-ago, 
Strangers  are  wishful  to  buy  you,  and  make  of  your  music  a  show. 
Not  while  the  selling  a  heart  for  a  gold-piece  is  reckoned  a  sin ; 
Not  while  the  word  of  old  Enoch  still  stands  as  a  law  for  his  kin. 

Grandsir  he  made  you  in  Breathitt  the  while  he  was  courting  a  maid; 
Nary  a  one  of  hia  offsprings,  right  down  to  the  least  one,  but  played. 
Played,  and  passed  on  to  his  people,  with  only  the  songs  to  abide, 
Long-ago  songs  of  old  England,  whose  lads  we  are  battling  beside. 
276 


AMONG  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

There  you'll  be  hanging  to  greet  him  when  Jasper  comes  back  from  the 

fight, 

Nary  a  letter  he's  writ  us — but  he'll  be  a-coming,  all  right. 
Jasper's  the  last  of  the  Logans — hit's  reason,  to  feel  that  he'll  beat, 
Beat,  and  beget  sons  and  daughters  to  sing  the  old  songs  at  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  XXXn 
FOLLOWING  WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RUSHING  RIVERS 

OTHER  states  may  claim  more  navigable  rivers 
than  West  Virginia,  but  it  would  not  be  easy 
for  any  other  state  to  prove  a  claim  to  the  pos- 
session of  streams  of  such  wonderful  variety  and  such 
picturesque  grandeur. 

From  the  far  eastern  corner,  where  Maryland,  Vir- 
ginia and  West  Virginia  greet  one  another,  to  Tug 
Fork  and  Big  Sandy  River — which  together  form  the 
boundary  along  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  of  Ken- 
tucky— there  is  a  splendid  succession  of  mountain- 
defying,  gorge-making  creeks  and  rivers  whose  banks 
would  furnish  wandering  ground  of  utmost  appeal  for 
fifty  summer  vacations.  In  the  country  drained  by 
these  watercourses  there  is  endless  variety  not  only  of 
scenery  but  of  altitude.  At  Harper's  Ferry  in  Jeffer- 
son County  the  bed  of  the  Potomac  is  but  two  hundred 
and  sixty  feet  above  the  sea.  Down  in  Pendleton 
County,  not  far  from  some  of  the  upper  waters  of  the 
South  Branch  of  the  Potomac,  Spruce  Mountain  is 
4600  feet  high.  These  are  the  extremes.  The  fifty- 
three  remaining  counties  of  the  Little  Mountain  State 
take  full  advantage  of  their  opportunity  to  build 
heights  where  every  prospect  pleases  and  to  mold  val- 
leys where  there  is  rich  support  for  the  prospector. 

When  Morgans  Morgan,  first  white  settler  in  what 
is  now  West  Virginia,  ascended  the  Potomac  in  1727, 
he  stopped  short  of  the  mouth  of  the  South  Branch. 
Perhaps  if  he  had  gone  on  until  he  caught  sight  of  the 

278 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

entry  of  that  stream  from  the  south  he  would  have 
been  lured  into  the  realm  of  the  mountains  that  hover 
protectingly  over  the  river  almost  all  the  way  to  its 
source  far  down  in  Pendleton  County.  And  what  a 
wonderland  he  would  have  threaded !  He  would  have 
seen  gap  after  gap  similar  to  that  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
where  the  Potomac  and  the  Shenandoah  sweep  majesti- 
cally through  the  Blue  Ridge.  The  first  gap  is  at  the 
site  of  the  old  chain  bridge,  not  many  miles  above  the 
mouth.  Again  at  Hanging  Rocks,  four  miles  below 
Romney,  the  same  mountain  is  riven  by  its  waters,  while 
not  far  away  Mill  Creek  has  its  own  pass  through  Mill 
Creek  Mountain.  Between  Petersburg  and  Moorefield 
the  portals  of  the  mountain  once  more  open  for  the 
leaping  waters. 

But  gaps  are  not  all  that  the  South  Branch  has  to 
offer.  There  are  the  Smoking  Holes,  where  the  river 
cuts  a  mountain  from  end  to  end.  Geologists  have  read 
the  history  of  this  gorge ;  they  say  that  once  the  river 
made  its  way  into  a  limestone  cavern  in  the  mountain 
and  emerged  several  miles  below.  The  caves  were 
enlarged  by  the  water.  Later  the  roof  fell  in.  The 
waters  plunged  over  the  fallen  rocks,  producing  spray 
and  mist  that  looks  like  smoke. 

Then  there  is  the  Trough,  near  Oldfields  in  Hardy 
County.  Deep  down  in  a  gorge  of  its  own  building 
the  river  plunges  through  a  mountain  that  discovered 
the  folly  of  opposing  the  water  as  it  determined  to  seek 
the  greater  stream  to  the  north. 

In  1837  the  South  Branch  was  reached  at  Romney  by 
the  Northwestern  Turnpike,  then  under  construction 
from  Winchester  to  Parkersburg.  The  route  was  sur- 
veyed in  part  by  one  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte's  engi- 

279 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

neers,  who  had  fled  to  America;  the  plan  of  the  builders 
to  compete  with  the  National  Road  by  enabling  Virginia 
to  retain  her  own  trade  with  the  West  appealed  to  him. 
The  way  from  Winchester  was  through  Blue 's  Gap  in 
North  Mountain  and  Mill  Creek  Gap,  where  the  South 
Branch  had  long  been  at  home.  For  some  years  the 
turnpike  was  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with,  but  in  time  the 
locomotives  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad — which 
followed  the  same  route  closely  for  a  long  distance — 
displaced  the  stage-coach  and  the  Conestoga  wagon. 

The  builders  of  the  railroad  thought  they  had  sur- 
mounted many  difficulties  when  crossing  the  Eastern 
Panhandle,  a  region  almost  evenly  divided  by  the 
South  Branch.  But  not  until  they  came  to  the  Cheat 
River  did  they  learn  the  real  meaning  of  the  word 
obstacle.  Then  courage  failed  them ;  they  tried  in  vain 
to  devise  a  way  to  reach  the  Ohio  River  without  cross- 
ing the  Cheat.  Finally,  however,  they  decided  that 
they  had  no  choice,  and  the  river  was  crossed.  Men 
marvelled  who  knew  of  the  passage,  whose  difficulty  was 
greater  than  had  yet  been  attempted  by  a  railroad. 

The  route  followed  from  Oakland,  Maryland,  to  the 
Cheat  was  almost  identical  with  that  chosen  by  Wash- 
ington in  1784  when  he  was  trying  to  map  out  his  route 
by  canal  and  river  to  the  West.  At  that  time  the  Gen- 
eral, noting  the  dark  color  of  the  river,  said  that  he 
thought  this  was  due  to  the  thickets  of  laurel  at  the 
source.  In  those  days  the  stream  flowed  through  a 
tangled  wilderness  where  laurel  and  rhododendron 
grow  luxuriantly.  Even  to-day  the  growth  persists  in 
places,  to  the  delight  of  those  who  penetrate  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Cheat. 

At  Morgantown  Washington  was  told  by  those  who 

280 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

professed  to  know  the  region  that  all  the  way  from 
Dunkard  Bottom  to  the  Monongahela  the  Cheat  could 
be  navigated.  Yet  it  is  known  that  few  have  succeeded 
in  facing  the  swift  current  and  the  cataracts  made  as 
the  waters  dash  over  the  ledges  in  the  thirty-two  miles 
of  the  gorge.  This  entire  section  is  difficult,  desolate 
and  dismaying,  but  the  final  ten  miles  above  the  mouth, 
just  over  the  line  in  Pennsylvania,  surpass  the  re- 
mainder in  grandeur.  At  times  the  fall  is  fifty  feet 
in  a  mile. 

Of  the  nature  of  the  gorge  one  of  the  railroad  engi- 
neers wrote  in  1828 : 

"The  bed  of  the  stream  is  frequently  filled  with 
large  masses  of  rock,  many  of  them  as  large  as  a  mod- 
erate house,  sometimes  so  abundant  we  had  to  leap  from 
one  to  the  other.  The  mountains  which  form  the  banks 
rise  almost  immediately  from  the  water's  edge  and  pre- 
sent their  steep  sides  at  an  angle  of  forty  or  fifty 
degrees  to  the  height  of  seven  hundred  or  eight  hundred 
feet.  In  sixteen  miles  there  is  scarcely  level  ground 
enough  to  place  the  foundations  of  a  small  cabin.  We 
were  three  days  in  going  the  distance.  No  horse  ever 
penetrated  there. ' ' 

There  has  not  been  much  change.  In  1906  a  ven- 
turesome newspaper  correspondent,  learning  that  few 
people  had  ever  been  through  Laurel  Hill  along  the 
stream,  made  the  journey.  It  is  difficult  to  realize  that 
the  story  of  the  trip  as  he  told  it  on  his  return  had  to 
do  with  a  region  so  close  to  the  heart  of  civilization, 
only  a  short  distance  from  two  of  West  Virginia's  pros- 
perous residence  and  commercial  centers.  Yet  he  said : 

"Within  half  a  mile  the  miserable  path  which  I  had 
been  following  ended  in  a  tangle  of  laurel  at  a  point 

281 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

beyond  which  no  fishermen  ever  pass.  The  jungles  on 
the  canyon  side  were  so  dense  that  I  preferred  wading 
in  the  bed  of  the  river  to  trying  to  break  my  way 
through.  It  was  not  often  possible  to  wade  the  chan- 
nel, for  at  one  step  the  water  might  be  six  inches  deep, 
and  at  the  next  twenty-five  feet.  Sometimes  the  river 
spread  to  a  width  of  three  hundred  or  four  hundred 
feet,  again  contracted  to  one-fourth  that.  Boulders 
blocked  the  channel  in  many  places. 

"Many  of  the  rapids  are  so  rough  that  the  water, 
despite  its  natural  red  color,  assumes  the  whiteness  of 
snow.  Where  the  eddies  are  placid  and  the  depths  cav- 
ernous, the  water  looked  as  black  as  ink.  At  times 
within  a  foot  of  the  shore  a  pole  twenty  feet  long  will 
not  reach  bottom. 

"At  noon  that  day  I  had  thirteen  miles  of  gorge 
ahead ;  at  dark,  eight.  Many  a  cliff  had  to  be  climbed 
to  pass  precipitous  banks.  And  many  a  boulder  larger 
than  a  house  blocked  the  only  footing  near  the  river. 

"I  am  no  novice  in  making  my  way  through  rough 
countries  among  obstacles,  but  I  had  a  nearer  approach 
to  starvation  and  physical  exhaustion  while  in  that 
canyon  than  ever  before  in  my  life.  Yet  that  was  the 
identical  route  which  Washington  believed  was  the 
highway  over  which  would  pass  the  interchange  of  com- 
merce between  the  East  and  the  West. 

"On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  I  completed  my 
thirteen  miles  going  through  the  canyon,  and  got  my 
first  meal  since  starting.  That  was  five  miles  below 
Dunkard  Bottom.  Here  Washington  thought  a  city 
would  grow  up — perhaps  like  Pittsburgh — at  the  head 
of  water  navigation  and  at  the  head  of  the  highway 
across  the  Alleghenies. " 

282 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

To  the  east  of  the  gorge  of  Cheat  River  are  "The 
Glades, ' '  the  great  Allegheny  plateau,  from  two  to  three 
thousand  feet  high,  where  summer  hotels  give  invita- 
tion to  the  tourist  to  linger  in  the  country  of  the  laurel, 
the  mountain  and  the  mysterious  river.  Oakland,  Mary- 
land, and  Brookside,  Eglon,  Aurora  and  Mount  Chateau 
in  West  Virginia  are  centers  in  the  elevated  region 
from  which  walking  tours  can  be  made  to  the  wonders 
of  the  Cheat. 

Dunkard  Bottom  is  the  point  in  the  gorge  nearest 
to  Morgantown,  on  the  Monongahela,  the  seat  of  the 
State  University,  one  of  the  best  in  the  South.  And  a 
little  farther  up  the  crooked  river  is  Fairmont,  where 
a  state  normal  school  flourishes.  Above  the  beau- 
tiful town  the  Monongahela  is  entered  by  Tygart's 
River,  another  of  the  rushing  streams  that  come 
from  the  Eastern  Plateau,  where  are  the  state's 
loftiest  mountains. 

Tygart's  River  is  only  one  hundred  miles  long,  but 
it  drops  more  than  two  thousand  six  hundred  feet  in 
that  distance.  At  the  headwaters  the  country  is  moun- 
tainous, and  the  slopes  of  the  valleys  are  steep  and  fre- 
quently precipitous.  There  wild  beasts  still  have  their 
dens  in  hidden  places  as  in  the  days  of  which  lines  found 
in  an  old  church  record  in  Randolph  County  tell : 

The  hungry  bear's  portentous  growl, 
The  famished  wolf's  uncouthly  howl; 
The  prowling  panther's  keenest  yell, 
These  echo  from  the  gloomy  dell. 

But  still  man  holds  his  dwellings  there, 
Defying  panther,  wolf  and  bear; 
But  prowling  varmints  plainly  tell 
This  is  no  place  for  man  to  dwell. 

283 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

The  mountains  high  with  grandeur  rise 
And  reach  the  everlasting  skies; 
The  vales  between  are  dark  and  wild, 
And  streamlets  dash  or  murmur  wild. 

The  roaring  rivers,  rough  and  wide, 
Dash  down,  or  pause  and  softly  glide; 
And  sometimes  their  onrushing  waves 
Bear  dwellers  down  to  watery  graves. 

Tygart's  Valley  is  famous.  It  was  one  of  the  ear- 
liest valleys  in  the  state  to  be  settled  by  those  who  tilled 
the  land.  They  were  attracted  by  the  fertile  soil  along 
the  forty  miles  of  stream  where  the  floor  is  from  half 
a  mile  to  a  mile  wide.  Once — so  geologists  say — the 
river  ran  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain  and  has  gradu- 
ally cut  its  way  down,  making  the  attractive  valley, 
nearly  two  thousand  feet  below  the  summit  of  Cheat 
Mountain  on  the  east  and  Eich  Mountain  on  the  west. 

Tygart's  River  meets  the  West  Branch  of  the 
Monongahela  at  Fairmont,  after  its  less  strenuous 
passage  through  the  Central  Plateau  where  altitudes 
are  not  so  great.  Yet  the  beauty  of  its  course  may  be 
judged  at  Clarksburg,  once  the  frontier  hamlet  of 
George  Eogers  Clark's  founding,  which  slept  amid  the 
rounded  hills  until  the  railroad  and  the  gas  and 
the  oil  roused  it  from  sleep  and  turned  it  into  a  mighty 
industrial  center. 

The  Clarksburg  of  to-day  is  a  most  attractive  com- 
bination of  old  Southern  calm  and  modern  Northern 
bustle.  There  relics  of  plantation  days  look  out  on 
lofty  business  buildings,  and  slave  quarters  survive 
just  across  from  a  hotel  that  would  do  credit  to  a  city 
of  four  times  Clarksburg's  population.  A  tablet  in  a 
business  street  records  the  fact  that  "Stonewall  Jack- 

284 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

son  was  born  here,"  and  Federal  earthworks  frown 
down  from  the  hills  on  the  triumphs  of  peace  and  plenty. 

Clarksburg  is  the  city  of  glass — window  glass  and 
table  glass,  tumblers  for  the  million,  clear  jars  for 
Chicago's  bacon  and  dried  beef  and  Philadelphia's 
peanut  butter,  yellow  snuff  jars  for  Memphis,  amber 
beef  extract  bottles  for  England.  These  are  the 
products  of  one  of  the  world's  greatest  furnaces  for 
making  and  cooking  the  sand  and  other  ingredients  that 
go  through  two  thousand  five  hundred  degrees  of  bub- 
bling, boiling,  sizzling,  dazzling  heat  until  they  flow  like 
molten  lava  into  the  waiting  molds. 

When  finally  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Eailroad 
leaped  across  the  Cheat  it  came  to  Grafton  and  Clarks- 
burg, and  passed  on  toward  Parkersburg,  on  the  Ohio. 
In  1827  the  surveyors  reported  that  if  this  route  should 
be  chosen  too  many  tunnels  would  be  necessary.  In 
that  day  the  art  of  tunnel-building  was  not  understood, 
so  it  was  not  strange  that  this  path  to  the  Ohio  was 
declared  impossible.  Yet  the  rate  of  construction  was 
so  slow  that  ample  time  was  given  to  gain  courage  for 
the  contest  with  the  rocks.  And  what  a  contest  it 
proved!  Twenty-seven  tunnels  between  Grafton  and 
Parkersburg,  one  of  them  being  the  longest  in  the  world 
at  the  time  of  its  construction !  In  that  day  drills  driven 
by  steam  and  electricity  had  not  been  invented.  Dyna- 
mite was  unknown.  Think  of  picking  out  a  mile  of 
flinty  rock,  with  hard  tools  assisted  by  the  use  of  ordi- 
nary powder !  But  the  railroad  was  at  last  completed 
across  the  state.  Twenty-eight  years  were  required 
for  the  building  of  the  single  track  from  Baltimore 
to  Parkersburg. 

The  second  great  railroad  to  cross  the  state  followed 

285 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

many  years  later.  The  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  went 
through  Greenbrier  County,  the  region  made  famous 
by  White  Sulphur  Springs  and  its  companion  resorts, 
where  the  Greenbrier  River  flows  down  to  a  junction 
with  New  River  at  Hinton. 

Seven  miles  from  Hinton,  on  the  Greenbrier,  one 
of  the  last  battles  of  the  Civil  War  was  fought,  late  in 
August,  1865.  Thurmond 's  Rangers,  descending  the 
Greenbrier  in  a  canoe  hollowed  from  a  poplar  log,  were 
fired  on  from  the  bluff  by  Union  troops. 

Hinton  is  in  Summers  County,  which  will  ever  be 
memorable  in  the  annals  of  Revolutionary  days  be- 
cause, on  January  20,  1775,  the  citizens  of  what  was 
then  Fincastle  County  drew  up  a  paper  of  which  a 
paragraph  was : 

"We  declare  that  we  are  deliberately  determined 
never  to  surrender  these  [inestimable  privileges]  to 
any  power  upon  earth  but  at  the  expense  of  our  lives. 
These  are  real,  though  unpolished,  sentiments  of  lib- 
erty, and  in  them  we  are  resolved  to  live  or  die. '  > 

The  stalwart  signers  of  that  document  must  have 
drawn  strength  from  their  contact  with  the  rugged 
gorge  of  New  River  and  the  mountains  that  tower  far 
above  the  waters. 

It  will  be  difficult  to  contest  the  claim  that  New 
River  scenery  "is  probably  not  surpassed  by  any- 
thing east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains."  In  1872  a 
writer  in  Scribner's  Magazine  called  the  canyon  "one 
of  the  most  remarkable  natural  wonders  of  the  East- 
ern States." 

The  New  River  Canyon  has  been  described  as  "a 
deep  crack  in  the  earth,  a  hundred  miles  long,  a  mile 
wide  at  the  summit,  from  eight  hundred  to  one  thousand 

286 


I 


VALLEY    FALLS,    TYGART  3    RIVER,    WEST   VIRGINIA 


ON    NEW    RIVER,    WEST    VIRGINIA 


SANDSTONE   CLIFFS,  ABOVE  NUTTALL,  NEW   RIVER,  WEST   VIRGINIA 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

three  hundred  feet  deep,  and  having  at  the  bottom  a 
noisy,  turbulent  stream." 

Less  than  half  a  century  ago  few  men  had  traversed 
the  entire  canyon  from  Hinton  to  Kanawha  Falls. 
Many  had  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crack  in  the  sweeping 
plateau  far  above  the  stream,  but  they  held  life  too 
valuable  to  venture  down  where  later  the  rail- 
way engineers  made  room  for  the  tracks  and  so 
opened  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  millions  a  journey  in 
many  respects  unrivaled. 

The  opening  of  the  road  through  the  canyon  led  an 
enthusiast  to  prophecy :  *  *  It  will  not  be  long  before  we 
number  a  hundred  million;  the  child  is  already  born 
who  may  see  the  Union  contain  even  one  hundred  and 
twenty  millions.  Looking  for  this  near,  or  at  least  not- 
far-off,  future,  it  is  of  inestimable  importance  that  we 
have  a  country  so  rich  in  natural  wealth  as  ours.  The 
opening  of  a  great  region,  near  the  center  of  our  popu- 
lation, in  a  mild  climate,  not  far  from  the  center  of 
commerce,  so  rich  as  West  Virginia  in  the  minerals 
most  important  to  all  industries,  is  something  of  imme- 
diate and  direct  interest. ' ' 

Near  the  end  of  the  canyon  the  beetling  crag  Hawk's 
Nest  rises  far  above  the  stream.  Then  come  Kanawha 
Falls  and  the  mouth  of  Gauley  River,  which  began  its 
tumultuous  course  over  in  Pocahontas  County,  in  the 
general  region  where  Cheat  River  and  Tygart's  River 
make  their  start.  Perhaps,  fifty  miles  from  the  source 
one  of  the  summer  campers  who  have  learned  that  there 
is  no  better  place  than  in  the  West  Virginia  mountains 
to  seek  a  combination  of  scenery  and  sport  told  of 
camping  on  a  ridge  at  the  foot  of  which  the  Gauley 
' l  rushed  down  over  the  rocks  or  swirled  about  in  fishing 

287 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

pools.  Just  across  the  road  from  the  camp,  and  again 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  as  far  up  and  down  the 
valley  as  one  could  see,  the  hills  rose  wild  and  beauti- 
ful, green-wooded  to  the  top,  except  where  great  ledges 
of  bare  rock  thrust  the  trees  aside." 

A  resident  of  the  hills  was  asked  his  opinion  of  the 
country.  * '  I  love  it, ' '  he  said.  1 1 1  was  born  here  among 
the  hills,  and  I'm  just  weary  anywhere  else.  I've  tried 
it,  but  I  always  come  back.  When  the  laurel  bushes 
blossom  in  the  spring  it's  the  prettiest  place  I  ever  saw. 
Men  aren't  always  to  be  trusted,  but  these  hills  are 
always  just  the  same." 

Beyond  the  mouth  of  the  Gauley  New  River  is  known 
as  Kanawha  Eiver.  The  mountains  that  before  kept  so 
close  on  either  side  recede,  first  on  one  bank,  then  on 
the  other.  Between  the  river  and  the  slopes  rich  bot- 
tom lands  are  covered  with  the  dark  green  of  the  pas- 
ture or  the  lighter  green  of  the  cornfields,  where  grow 
luxuriant  crops  that  owe  their  life  to  the  silt  deposited 
by  the  flood  as  it  falls  three  thousand  one  hundred  feet 
in  four  hundred  and  twenty-seven  miles. 

The  last  ninety  miles  of  the  Kanawha,  from  a  point 
above  Charleston  to  its  mouth  at  Point  Pleasant,  have 
been  made  navigable  by  locks  and  dams,  so  that  busy 
packets  and  picturesque  towboats  can  ply  the  waters 
up  and  down  the  stream.  This  improvement  in  navi- 
gation was  begun  in  early  years  by  the  James  Eiver 
and  Kanawha  Canal  Company  and  was  completed  by 
the  United  States.  Here  the  first  movable  dams  in 
America  were  constructed,  one  of  them  being  at 
Brownstown,  nine  miles  from  Charleston. 

Charleston,  long  called  Kanawha  Court  House,  has 
the  distinction  of  being  near  the  site  of  the  cabin  across 

288 


FOLLOWING   WEST  VIRGINIA'S  RIVERS 

from  Thoroughfare  Gap,  where  Daniel  Boone  waited 
for  the  buffalo,  elk  and  other  animals  that  flocked 
through  on  their  way  to  the  salt  springs  by  the  river. 
Other  pioneers  followed  him,  attracted  not  only  by  the 
game  but  by  the  salt  found  along  seventy  miles  of  the 
river  from  its  mouth  and  back  into  the  country  from  the 
stream,  a  distance  of  twelve  or  fourteen  miles.  There 
was  a  time  when  five  million  bushels  a  year  were  gath- 
ered in  this  area,  and  salt  was  an  important  item  in 
the  commerce  of  Charleston  and  other  river  ports.  To- 
day, however,  the  production  of  salt  in  this  region  is 
not  one-fourth  as  large. 

Yet  the  salt  wells  have  left  a  far  more  important  in- 
dustry in  their  wake.  Natural  gas  was  discovered  in 
1815  while  men  were  boring  for  salt,  but  not  for  a 
generation  was  the  greatest  gas  discovery  made — a  well 
whose  roaring  could  be  heard  for  many  miles.  In  1841 
the  natural  gas  was  first  used  for  manufacting  pur- 
poses here  in  the  Kanawha  Valley. 

Then  came  the  great  oil  discoveries.  For  years  the 
indications  of  oil  had  been  noted.  It  floated  over  many 
of  the  salt  wells  and  found  its  way  into  the  Kanawha. 
"Old  Greasy"  was  a  popular  name  for  the  river  among 
the  old-time  boatmen. 

To  the  fact  that  the  petroleum  industry  had  its  start 
in  West  Virginia  is  due  the  perfection  of  "some  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world,"  as  a  West  Virginia  historian 
proudly  claims:  "the  drill  that  bores  through  rock 
thousands  of  feet  thick;  the  casing  that  keeps  the  well 
open;  the  dynamite  shot  that  shatters  the  rocks  half 
a  mile  below  the  surface ;  the  pump  that  operates  many 
wells  at  once;  the  enormous  tanks;  the  hundreds  of 
miles  of  pipe  line  which  pass  over  mountain  and  under 

289 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

rivers;  the  refineries  which  are  the  largest  chemical 
apparatus  on  earth." 

Charleston  is  built  on  a  plain  that  rolls  up  to  a  green 
ridge  three  hundred  to  five  hundred  feet  higher.  It 
has  the  advantage  not  only  of  the  Kanawha,  but  also  of 
the  Elk,  a  tributary  from  the  northeast  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  many,  is  one  of  the  choice  streams  of  the 
state.  Since  its  source  is  but  a  few  miles  north  of  the 
upper  waters  of  Gauley  River,  it  shares  with  that  moun- 
tain stream  the  right  to  claim  some  of  the  best  sur- 
roundings of  Webster  County.  Webster  Springs, 
famous  for  sulphur  springs,  is  high  up  in  a  bowl-like 
hollow  with  mountains  on  every  side.  Through  the 
bowl  flows  the  tumultuous  Elk,  "a  blue  ribbon  of  poetry 
and  delight.'*  Once  the  Shawnee  Indians  made  peri- 
odical pilgrimages  to  the  Springs  by  way  of  this  stream, 
for  which  they  had  great  reverence.  There  was  a 
legend  among  them  that  in  the  year  of  drouth  and 
famine  the  elk,  parched  with  thirst,  came  down  from 
the  mountains  to  the  valleys.  Many  of  the  noble  ani- 
mals died,  but  those  in  the  herd  of  the  great  leader 
Scar  Face  were  shown  the  way  to  water  and  food  when 
no  other  leader  could  find  them.  But  the  day  came  when 
even  Scar  Face  could  find  nothing  for  the  herd.  For 
days  he  searched  in  vain.  Then  he  heard  the  rumbling 
of  water  beneath  his  feet.  Eagerly  he  pawed  the  earth. 
The  exertion  was  too  much  for  him ;  he  fell  dead  just 
as  his  hoof  opened  the  way  to  a  cavity  from  which  the 
waters  were  springing  forth.  And  out  over  his  body 
flowed  Elk  River. 

The  Indians  who  repeated  this  legend  about  their 
camp  fire  used  to  find  their  way  to  Buzzard  Roost,  a 
great  cliff  at  the  point  where  Little  Creek  enters  the 

290 


FOLLOWING   WEST   VIRGINIA'S   RIVERS 

Elk.  One  of  the  few  novelists  who  have  written  of  the 
"West  Virginia  mountains  gave  a  pleasing  description 
of  the  Indians '  outlook : 

"On  one  side  Little  Creek  had  eroded  the  mountain 
until  the  naked  rocks  stood  out  bold  and  bare ;  and  on 
the  other  side  Elk  River  had  done  the  same.  The  result 
was  Buzzard  Roost.  Shaped  like  a  triangle  lying  prone 
with  its  base  toward  the  hills,  it  pointed  out  like  a 
great  wedge.  One  reaching  the  base  at  the  top  could 
travel  slowly  out  toward  the  point.  The  cliff  itself  was 
at  best  but  a  few  feet  in  width,  and  the  erratic  little 
path  that  wavered  out  it  sometimes  disappeared  alto- 
gether, and  at  others  clung  perilously  near  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  In  the  dry,  shallow  ground  on  the  top  there 
was  just  depth  enough  to  support  a  few  straggling 
huckleberry  bushes,  and  here  and  there  a  low 
scrub  pine. ' ' 

It  must  have  been  an  Indian  with  vision  made  keen 
by  some  eyrie  like  Buzzard's  Boost  who  made  the 
prophecy  as  to  the  coming  greatness  of  Washington, 
according  to  the  story  told  by  George  Washington 
Parke  Custis.  One  day  in  1755,  when  George  Washing- 
ton was  near  the  junction  of  the  Kanawha  and  the 
Ohio,  an  Indian  chief  sought  him  and  said  to  him, 
through  an  interpreter:  "The  Great  Spirit  protects 
that  man  and  guards  his  destinies.  He  will  become  the 
chief  of  nations,  and  a  people  yet  unborn  will  hail  him 
as  the  founder  of  a  mighty  empire. " 

Point  Pleasant,  at  Kanawha 's  mouth,  was  the  scene 
of  another  incident  concerning  which  there  can  be  no 
question.  In  1774  took  place  the  greatest  battle  ever 
fought  with  the  Indians  in  West  Virginia.  These  sav- 
ages, on  the  pretext  that  the  whites  intended  to  cross 

291 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  Ohio,  in  the  face  of  treaty  obligations,  joined  forces 
against  the  colonists.  Lord  Dunmore,  governor  of  Vir- 
ginia, sent  troops  across  the  Alleghenies,  by  way  of 
Staunton,  Warm  Springs  and  Charleston,  to  meet  them. 
A  monument  to  those  who  fell  in  the  desperate  battle 
that  followed  was  dedicated  on  the  spot  in  1909. 

Point  Pleasant  is  close  to  the  western  limits  of  West 
Virginia,  yet  between  it  and  the  Kentucky  line  are  two 
other  towns  that  have  the  distinction  of  being  at  the 
mouth  of  West  Virginia  streams.  Huntington  guards 
the  entrance  to  the  Ohio  of  the  Guyandotte — or  simply 
the  Guyan,  as  it  is  called  by  those  who  live  on  its  banks, 
while  Kenova  points  the  way  of  Ohio  navigators  to  Big 
Sandy,  which  descends  more  than  three  hundred  feet 
in  one  hundred  miles.  The  chief  branch  of  Big. Sandy 
is  known  as  the  Tug.  The  records  of  the  days  of  Indian 
warfare  tell  of  the  passage  down  that  stream  of  a  de- 
tachment of  Virginia  troops.  While  trying  to  negotiate 
the  Boughs  of  Tug,  a  series  of  treacherous  rapids  sev- 
eral miles  long,  the  canoes  capsized,  the  men  lost  their 
supplies,  and  they  were  compelled  to  return  home. 

Yet  another  stream  of  importance  enters  the  Ohio 
from  the  West  Virginia  mountains.  The  Little  Kana- 
wha,  after  starting  near  the  Gauley  and  the  Elk,  flows 
into  quieter  country,  through  the  undeveloped  coal 
fields  of  Gilmer  and  Calhoun  Counties,  and  enters  the 
Ohio  at  Parkersburg,  the  West  Virginia  city  in  im- 
portance second  only  to  Wheeling  in  the  Panhandle. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ROMANCE  ON  AN  ISLAND 

WHEN  George  Washington  made  his  survey- 
ing trip  through  Western  Virginia  in  1770 
he  was  attracted  by  a -beautiful  island  in  the 
Ohio  Biver,  not  far  from  the  present  site  of  Parkers- 
burg,  West  Virginia,  two  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Kanawha  River.  The  upper  end  lies  opposite  the 
pretty  little  village  of  Belpre,  Ohio.  To  the  surveyor 
who  had  traversed  the  wilds  of  the  interior  the  island 
must  have  seemed  a  paradise.  A  recent  visitor  became 
enthusiastic  when  he  stood  on  the  shore ;  he  told  of  the 
landscape  of  vale  and  hill  to  be  seen  by  one  who  looks 
over  the  mainland ;  the  forest-clad  Virginia  hills,  rising 
south  of  the  .island,  "in  places  almost  palisades";  the 
bluffs  crowned  by  Parkersburg,  forming  the  gateway 
to  the  Little  Kanawha ;  the  nearer  Virginia  hills ;  the 
broad,  beautiful  river;  and  the  shapely  island  rising 
from  the  water  with  sloping  shores,  shaded  by  tall 
white  sycamores,  elms  and  locusts. 

Washington  was  so  charmed  by  the  island  that  he 
included  it  in  the  lands  to  which  he  took  title.  After 
some  years,  however,  it  passed  from  his  hands,  and  in 
1798  one  hundred  and  seventy  acres  of  it  were  bought 
by  Herman  Blennerhassett,  a  wealthy  young  Irishman 
who  had  come  to  America  after  marrying  Margaret 
Agnew,  whose  grandfather  commanded  a  British  bri- 
gade in  the  American  Revolution.  After  crossing  the 

293 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Alleghenies  to  Pittsburg  they  floated  down  the  Ohio 
River  in  a  flatboat  and  finally  took  up  their  residence  on 
a  portion  of  Washington's  old  river  possession — the 
eastern  lobe  of  the  spectacle-shaped  island,  which  is 
three  and  a  half  miles  long  and  one-half  mile  wide  at 
either  end,  narrowing  in  the  center  to  the  width  of  a 
wagon  road. 

Soon  the  pioneers  on  the  West  Virginia  and  Ohio 
shores  began  to  speak  with  wonder  of  the  transforma- 
tion being  made  in  the  river  paradise  by  the  Irish 
emigrant.  The  island  became  a  park.  On  a  summit 
near  the  upper  end,  facing  so  that  boats  coming  down 
stream  could  see  it  well,  a  palatial  mansion  was  built. 
The  main  house  was  fifty-two  feet  long  and  thirty  feet 
wide.  On  either  side  were  wing-like  porticos  forty 
feet  long ;  these,  with  the  main  building,  made  a  semi- 
circular front  of  one  hundred  and  ten  feet.  From  the 
front  of  the  green  and  white  house  to  the  water's  edge 
sloped  the  lawn  whose  grottoes,  arbors,  hawthorn 
hedges,  gravel  walks  and  flower  beds  containing  rare 
imported  plants  fulfilled  the  promises  made  to  the  visi- 
tor who  entered  the  gateway  with  its  stately 
stone  columns. 

In  the  rear  of  the  house  were  orchards,  fields  and 
gardens,  cared  for  by  trained  men,  some  of  whom  were 
brought  from  England,  as  were  some  of  the  large  crops 
of  servants  in  the  mansion  itself.  Slaves  were  a  part 
of  the  establishment,  many  of  them  being  needed  to  care 
for  the  exquisite  furnishings  brought  from  abroad. 

To-day  the  expenditure  of  forty  thousand  dollars 
on  a  house  would  not  attract  attention,  but  in  the  day 
when  the  near-by  hills  of  West  Virginia  and  Ohio  were 
a  wilderness  the  establishment  was  a  constant  marvel; 

294 


ROMANCE   ON  AN  ISLAND 

it  was  like  a  bit  of  old  Virginia  transplanted  to 
the  frontier. 

The  proprietor  of  the  estate  was  a  student  who 
dabbled  in  chemistry,  electricity  and  astronomy.  Hours 
were  spent  in  his  library  or  in  the  music  room,  where 
he  played  skillfully  on  the  bass  viol  and  the  violoncello. 
Sometimes  he  practiced  medicine  when  there  was  need, 
and  he  could  have  acted  as  lawyer  for  anyone  who 
needed  his  services.  A  professor  of  Latin  or  Greek 
from  Harvard  College  would  have  found  him  a  kin- 
dred spirit.  In  fact,  anyone  who  came  his  way  was 
made  welcome  to  the  best  the  island — now  known  as 
Blennerhassett 's  Island — could  provide. 

Mrs.  Blennerhassett  was  a  charming  hostess.  One 
writer  says  of  her,  "History  affords  but  few  instances 
where  so  much  feminine  beauty,  physical  endurance, 
and  many  social  graces  were  combined. ' '  She  has  been 
called  one  of  the  most  remarkable  women  of  her  time,  if 
not  of  all  American  history.  She  was  as  thoroughly 
educated  as  her  husband,  was  mistress  of  graces  that 
made  her  a  delightful  hostess,  and  was  a  lover  of  hunt- 
ing, boating  and  walking. 

To  this  paradise  in  the  Ohio  River,  northern  out- 
post of  the  luxury  and  hospitality  of  Virginia,  came 
many  adventurers  and  travelers.  Among  others  came 
Aaron  Burr,  meditating  wild  dreams  of  the  conquest 
of  Mexico  and,  perhaps,  later  of  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi  country  and,  eventually,  of  the  entire 
American  republic. 

From  Pittsburg  Burr  floated  by  flatboat  to  the  shore 
of  Blennerhassett.  A  hearty  welcome  was  given  to  him 
as  one  who  had  been  Vice-President  of  the  United 
States.  He  remained  long  enough  to  win  his  way  into 

295 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

the  confidence  of  the  hostess  and  her  guileless  husband. 
Then  he  went  on  down  the  river,  his  mind  made  up  that 
Blennerhassett  Island  would  be  an  admirable  center 
for  the  working  out  of  his  plans.  His  coming  had  been, 
as  Wirt  called  it,  "the  coming  of  Satan  into  Eden." 
His  departure  was  preliminary  to  the  engulfing  of  the 
Irishman  and  his  wife  in  the  deep  waters  of  conspiracy. 

In  1806  Burr  returned  to  Blennerhassett  Island  with 
his  daughter  Theodosia — wif e  of  Governor  Allston  of 
South  Carolina — who  was  conspiring  with  her  father. 

Mrs.  Blannerhassett  and  Theodosia  Allston  became 
great  friends  and  were  soon  heartily  engaged  with  the 
two  men  in  preparing  for  the  plan  to  invade  Mexico. 
Boats  were  built  for  the  transportation  of  troops,  and 
other  arrangements  were  made.  Blennerhassett  spent 
his  entire  fortune  in  the  preparation.  He  was  to  be  the 
Minister  to  England  from  the  great  empire  of  which 
Burr  was  to  be  ruler. 

Suddenly  the  country  was  aroused  to  its  peril.  Burr 
was  arrested,  but  was  later  released  for  lack  of  proof. 
Then,  one  by  one,  the  details  of  the  great  conspiracy 
were  disclosed.  President  Jefferson  by  proclamation 
told  the  country  of  the  danger,  while  the  governors  of 
Virginia,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  Mississippi  and  Lou- 
isiana issued  proclamations  and  called  out  state  mili- 
tias. Claiborne,  governor  of  the  Territory  of  Orleans, 
declared  martial  law.  Forts  were  built  at  New  Orleans 
to  repel  the  conspirators.  The  militia  of  Wood  County, 
Virginia,  were  instructed  to  take  possession  of  Blen- 
nerhassett Island  and  arrest  the  proprietor  and  his 
family.  But  the  proprietor  escaped  on  a  wild  winter's 
night,  avoided  the  Virginia  militia  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Great  Kanawha  and  floated  down  the  Ohio.  Mrs.  Blen- 

296 


nerhassett  remained  at  the  island  and  witnessed  the 
destruction  of  the  park  and  the  house  when  the  militia 
took  possession.  Later  she  joined  her  husband  down 
the  river.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Cumberland  Burr  met 
the  fugitives  with  boats  and  sixty  men.  Then  they  went 
on  to  Bayou  Pierre,  above  Natchez,  where  he  looked  for 
aid  from  General  Wilkinson,  Commander  of  the  West- 
ern United  States  Troops,  but  when  he  arrived  there 
he  learned  that  the  confederate  on  whom  he  had  counted 
had  betrayed  him.  The  Mississippi  militia  inter- 
fered with  further  progress,  and  the  conspirators 
were  arrested  and  put  on  trial.  Yet  in  court  they 
were  acquitted. 

In  Alabama,  on  the  way  to  the  coast,  Burr  was  again 
arrested  and  taken  to  Richmond.  Blennerhassett,  while 
on  his  way  back  to  his  island,  was  also  arrested  and 
carried  to  Eichmond.  Later  both  were  acquitted  of  the 
charge  of  treason. 

Blennerhassett  sought  his  island,  but  found  it  ruined 
by  vandals  and  floods.  Another  was  in  possession 
where  he  had  been  master.  Sorrowfully  he  made  his 
way  to  Gibsonport,  Mississippi,  and  there  lived  on  a 
cotton  plantation  until  1819.  Two  years  later  he  died 
in  extreme  poverty,  while  Mrs.  Blennerhassett  lived 
until  1842.  She,  too,  died  in  misery.  The  three  sons 
ended  their  lives  unfortunately. 

Some  years  before  her  death  Mrs.  Blennerhassett 
published  a  volume  of  poems,  of  which  one  was  "The 
Deserted  Isle. ' '  Of  this  two  stanzas  were : 

The  stranger  that  descends  Ohio's  stream, 

Charmed  with  the  beauteous  prospects  that  arise, 

Marks  the  soft  isles  that,  'neath  the  glittering  beam, 
Dance  with  the  waves  and  mingle  with  the  skies. 
Sees  also,  one  that  now  in  ruin  lies, 

297 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Which  erst,  like  fairy  queen,  towered  o'er  the  rest, 
In  every  native  charm,  by  culture  dress'd. 

There  rose  the  seat,  where  once,  in  pride  of  life, 
My  eye  could  mark  the  queenly  river's  flow, 

In  summer's  calmness  or  in  winter's  strife, 
Swollen  with  rain,  or  battling  with  the  snow. 
Never  again,  my  heart  such  joy  shall  know; 

Havoc  and  ruin,  rampant  war  have  pass'd 

Over  that  isle,  with  their  destroying  blast. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
IN  THE  PANHANDLE  OF  WEST  VIRGINIA 

By  ancestry  West  Virginia  belongs  to  the  North, 
for  many  of  her  first  settlers  came  from  Penn- 
sylvania, Maryland  and  New  Jersey.  Geo- 
graphically the  state  is  a  part  of  the  South,  for  it  joins 
Kentucky,  and  it  nestles  between  the  Ohio  Eiver  and 
the  backbone  of  mountains  that  separate  the  sources 
of  the  streams  flowing  toward  the  Atlantic  and  those 
flowing  toward  the  Ohio.  Politically  it  became  a  North- 
ern state  in  1863  by  a  separation  from  old  Virginia  that 
had  been  talked  of  for  two  generations. 

This  wonderfully  rich  state,  whose  great  resources 
have  hardly  been  touched,  is  peculiar  in  one  thing  only 
— a  contour  so  odd  that  it  must  be  the  despair  of  the 
poor  children  who  are  asked  to  outline  its  borders.  Yet 
the  boundaries  are  natural,  for  the  most  part;  the  one 
exception  is  the  double  right  angle  between  the  Ohio 
Eiver  near  Pittsburgh  and  the  headwaters  of  the 
Potomac  near  Fairfax,  where,  in  1746,  the  surveyors 
of  Lord  Fairfax  planted  the  " Fairfax  Stone"  to  mark 
the  western  limit  of  his  grant  for  the  " Northern  Neck" 
of  Virginia. 

Between  the  Ohio  Eiver  and  the  side  of  the  first 
triangle  is  the  oddest  feature  of  this  state  of  eccentric 
borders — the  Panhandle,  less  than  one  hundred  miles 
long  and  from  seven  to  twenty  miles  wide;  a  wedge 
driven  between  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio  as  if  to  claim 
kinship  with  these  states. 

299 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

No  one  can  profess  to  know  West  Virginia  unless 
he  knows  the  Panhandle,  and  no  regrets  will  be  the 
sequel  of  the  effort  to  permit  it  to  reveal  its  mani- 
fold attractions. 

The  passenger  on  an  Ohio  Eiver  steamboat  has  a 
fine  opportunity  to  look  into  the  Panhandle  along  its 
entire  western  boundary.  Not  long  after  leaving  New 
Martinsville  he  is  on  a  line  with  Pennsylvania's  south- 
ern limits.  There  the  Panhandle  begins. 

For  twenty  miles  or  more  the  river  flows  sedately 
between  the  hills  of  Ohio  and  the  varied  landscapes  of 
Marshall  County,  one  of  the  four  counties  that  divide 
the  wedge.  Then  comes  the  sharp  bend  known  as  the 
Devil's  Elbow  where  the  pilot  of  the  towboat  pushing 
a  long  line  of  empty  barges  upstream  must  keep  his 
wits  about  him.  And  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
bend  is  Moundsville,  the  pleasing  town  that  takes  its 
name  from  the  ancient  burial  place  of  a  prehistoric 
people,  a  great  mound  whose  age  is  unknown.  Some 
years  ago  a  great  white  oak  tree  that  grew  on  the  top 
of  the  mound  was  cut  down,  and  an  examination  of  the 
trunk  showed  that  it  was  more  than  five  hundred  years 
old.  How  old  was  the  mound  when  the  tree  was 
a  sapling? 

Originally  the  mound  was  ninety  feet  high,  but 
eleven  feet  of  earth  was  taken  from  the  top  by  a  builder 
who  wished  to  make  an  observatory.  The  sides  are 
steps,  and  are  covered  with  trees. 

The  first  mention  of  the  curiosity  was  in  1772.  In 
1838  the  owner  tunneled  horizontally  into  the  mound, 
beginning  at  the  level  of  the  ground.  When  the  tunnel 
was  one  hundred  and  eleven  feet  long  the  workmen 
came  to  a  vault  that  had  been  excavated  in  the  earth 

300 


IN    THE    PANHANDLE    OF    WEST    VIRGINIA 

before  the  mound  was  commenced.  This  vault  was 
twelve  feet  long,  eight  feet  wide  and  seven  feet  high.  It 
was  perfectly  dry.  Originally,  upright  timbers  at  the 
sides  and  the  ends  had  supported  cross  timbers  on  which 
the  roof  rested.  This  roof  was  formed  of  unhewn  stone. 
Gradually  the  timbers  decayed,  the  stones  fell  and  the 
vault  was  nearly  filled  with  earth.  Examination  of  the 
timbers  showed  that  they  had  been  shaped  by  burning ; 
there  was  no  evidence  of  a  tool  of  iron  for  cutting  them, 
but  near  at  hand  were  bits  of  charcoal,  reminders  of  the 
painfully  slow  work  of  the  ancient  builders.  In  the 
vault  were  two  skeletons,  one  of  which  was  surrounded 
by  six  hundred  and  fifty  ivory  beads. 

Not  yet  satisfied,  the  proprietor  of  the  mound  be- 
gan to  make  an  excavation  from  the  top,  straight  down- 
ward. When  half  way  to  the  bottom  he  discovered  a  sec- 
ond vault,  directly  over  the  vault  on  the  ground  level.  A 
skeleton  found  there  had  on  it  one  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred ivory  beads,  five  hundred  sea  shells  and  five  copper 
bracelets.  One  hundred  and  fifty  pieces  of  isinglass 
were  scattered  over  the  body.  Near  by  was  a  curious 
oval  stone  bearing  three  rows  of  hieroglyphics  which 
have  never  been  deciphered. 

For  many  years  after  this  excavation  was  made  the 
mound  was  neglected.  The  observatory  on  the  summit 
was  used  as  a  restaurant  and  dancing  pavilion.  The 
Fair  Grounds  were  laid  out  around  the  mound,  and  the 
race  track  encircled  the  ancient  monument.  The  exca- 
vations were  responsible  for  a  sinking  of  the  earth  so 
that  there  was  a  noticeable  depression  in  the  top.  Gul- 
lies were  cut  into  the  sides  by  the  constant  wash- 
ing of  the  rain,  and  foot  paths  were  made  at  random 
on  the  slopes. 

301 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

Fortunately,  public-spirited  men  and  women  decided 
that  this  interesting  monument  must  be  preserved.  Ap- 
peal was  made  to  the  State  Legislature,  and  the  law- 
makers were  persuaded  to  purchase  the  ground  and  set 
it  apart  as  the  possession  of  the  people. 

Nine  miles  above  Moundsville  Wheeling  perches 
precariously  on  a  narrow  flood  plain  and  on  an  island, 
made  by  the  deposits  of  streams  that  enter  the  Ohio 
from  opposite  sides,  then  climbs  the  slopes  that  rise 
three  hundred  feet  above  the  river.  From  the  heights 
the  prospect  is  superb;  winding  waterway,  low-lying 
island,  wooded  hills  on  the  Ohio  shore,  and,  back  toward 
the  Pennsylvania  line,  valleys  that  turn  and  twist  among 
rugged  green  slopes.  These  slopes  are  guardians  over 
the  homes  of  those  who,  when  the  day's  work  in  the  city 
is  done,  seek  refreshment  in  Pleasant  Valley  and  Elm 
Grove.  But  to-day  Wheeling  thrusts  out  eager  fingers, 
laying  hold  on  these  one-time  suburbs  along  the  Na- 
tional Eoad  that  entered  the  city  from  Cumberland, 
Maryland,  in  1818,  fifty-eight  years  after  the  first  set- 
tlement was  made  on  the  site  of  the  city. 

The  lofty  suspension  bridge  over  which  the  turnpike 
passed  in  early  days,  still  leaps  from  the  mainland  to 
the  island,  disdainful  now  of  rivals  above  and  below, 
even  as  many  years  ago  it  held  serenely  aloof  from 
the  litigation  of  those  who  thought  it  a  menace 
to  navigation. 

To-day  Wheeling  is  a  commercial  city  of  import- 
ance. But  there  was  a  time  when  her  fame  as  a  business 
center  was  overshadowed  by  her  prominence  in  political 
affairs.  Here,  on  June  13, 1861,  was  held  a  convention 
which  chose  Governor  Pierpont  to  head  the  Restored 
Government  of  Virginia,  On  November  26,  1861,  an- 

302 


at 


CEDAR    ROCKS    ON    WHEELING    CREEK,    WEST    VIRGINIA 


TABLE    ROCK,    OHIO    COUNTY,    WEST   VIRGINIA 


IN  THE     PANHANDLE  OF   WEST   VIRGINIA 

other  convention  met  to  constitute  what  many  wished 
to  call  the  State  of  Kanawha,  though  the  name  West 
Virginia  was  finally  chosen.  Two  years  later  the  Re- 
stored Government  removed  its  capital  to  Alexandria, 
but  Wheeling  continued  to  be  the  capital  of  the  new 
state.  The  historic  building  occupied  as  a  capital  from 
1863  to  1870  has  long  been  used  by  the  Linsley  Institute. 

In  1870  Charleston  became  the  capital.  The  public 
documents  and  the  state  officers  were  transferred  down 
the  Ohio  and  up  the  Kanawha  in  the  steamer  Mountain 
Boy.  But  five  years  later  it  was  Wheeling's  turn  to 
send  to  Charleston  a  steamer  for  a  transfer  of  archives 
and  the  governor  and  his  associates  back  to  the  old 
building,  which  was  displaced  by  a  new  capitol  erected 
by  the  city,  to-day  Wheeling's  City  Hall.  There  the 
officials  remained  in  peace  until  1885,  when,  the  contest 
between  Charleston,  Martinsburg  and  Clarksburg  for 
the  permanent  location  of  the  capital  having  resulted 
in  the  choice  of  Charleston,  the  river  was  a  third  time 
called  on  to  assist  in  the  movement.  But  now  a  single 
steamer  was  not  sufficient;  two  steamers  and  a  barge 
were  required  for  the  work  whose  conclusion  caused 
great  rejoicing  in  Charleston.  Then  Wheeling  settled 
down  to  the  life  of  steady  progress  that  has  won  fame 
for  her. 

From  Wheeling  it  is  easy  to  take  splendid  highways 
that  lead  to  other  historic  spots,  remarkable  for  beauty 
of  hill  and  valley,  forest  and  stream.  One  winding  route 
across  the  Panhandle  leads  up  Glenn's  Run,  then  along 
Short  Creek,  a  stream  only  four  miles  long,  attractive 
as  it  is  brief.  The  way  is  uphill  and  downhill  or  thread- 
ing the  delightful  valleys  to  Bethany  Pike,  the  oldest 
highway  in  the  neighborhood  of  Wheeling  except  the 

303 


SEEING  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

National  Eoad,  which  stretches  away  through  fertile 
wooded  hill  and  shaded  glen  to  Bethany,  the  college 
town  whose  founder  planned  to  call  it  Buffalo,  since 
it  was  on  Buffalo  Creek.  For  a  time  he  dated  his  letters 
from  Buffalo  and  mailed  them  at  West  Liberty,  four 
miles  distant.  Then,  learning  that  a  postmaster  could 
frank  his  own  mail,  he  sought  and  obtained  an  appoint- 
ment as  postmaster  at  Buffalo,  though  he  had  to  change 
the  name  since  there  was  another  Buffalo  post-office 
in  Virginia. 

The  traveler  among  the  hills  that  look  so  much  like 
the  slopes  of  the  English  lake  district  is  startled  at  one 
point  by  the  sight  of  Table  Eock,  a  great  boulder  bal- 
anced on  a  pedestal,  near  the  summit  of  a  hill  by  the 
roadside.  Its  appearance  is  unexpected,  for  it  is  the 
only  formation  of  the  kind  to  be  seen,  and  it  is  in  a 
position  where  such  a  combination  of  rocks  seems  out 
of  place.  Since  the  days  of  the  Indians  this  has  been  a 
landmark  for  all  the  countryside. 

Bethany  Pike  soon  joins  the  National  Eoad.  Then 
the  way  is  up  Wheeling  Creek  a  short  distance  from 
the  union  of  Little  Wheeling  Creek  with  the  larger 
stream  and  down  a  side  road.  Wheeling  Creek  flows  for 
some  distance  beneath  a  rocky  precipice,  the  Cedar 
Eocks,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  natural  fea- 
tures of  the  Panhandle.  From  this  point  Wheeling 
Creek  leads  back  into  the  country,  still  farther  from 
the  National  Eoad.  So  the  choice  route  for  those  who 
wish  to  continue  to  see  some  of  the  best  things  offered 
by  the  Panhandle  is  back  to  the  main  turnpike  at  Monu- 
ment Place  in  Elm  Grove,  named  because  on  the  lawn 
stands  the  monument  built  in  early  days  to  Henry  Clay, 
who  was  thought  of  as  the  Father  of  the  Pike. 

304 


IN    THE    PANHANDLE    OF    WEST    VIRGINIA 

It  is  difficult  to  see  how  a  short  section  of  road  could 
be  more  fascinating  than  the  twelve  miles  from  Elm 
Grove  to  West  Alexander,  on  the  Pennsylvania  line. 
Almost  all  the  way  the  turnpike  is  built  by  the  side  of 
the  creek,  deep  down  between  the  steep  green  hills, 
crossing  the  stalwart  stone  bridges  a  century  old,  cling- 
ing to  a  narrow  shelf  between  the  slope  and  the  water, 
or  climbing  to  some  point  of  vantage  far  above  the  thun- 
der of  floods  that  sweep  down  so  suddenly  from  tribu- 
tary runs.  There  are  places  where  the  way  seems  dark, 
for  the  sun  is  hindered  by  the  dense  foliage  or  the  hills 
pressing  close  on  either  hand.  But  the  darkness  is  not 
gloomy  here  in  the  passage  across  the  narrow  Pan- 
handle. Gloom  is  not  for  those  who  delight  to  linger 
amid  the  hills  of  West  Virginia  and  by  the  side  of  her 
rushing  mountain  streams. 


20 


INDEX 


Abandoned  towns:  St.  Josephs, 
Florida,  171;  St.  Stephens,  Ala- 
bama, 181 ;  Cahaba,  Alabama, 
191 

Abilene,  Texas,  251 

"Acchawmake,"  the  land  beyond 
the  water,  43 

Acoomac  Peninsula,  Virginia,  42, 
43 

Adams,  John,  62 

Adventure  with  a  wild  hog,  152; 
with  a  mysterious  fish,  155;  with 
a  wild  cat,  269 

Alamance,  Battle  of  the,  64,  87 

Alamo,  the,  San  Antonio,  Texas, 
248 

Albany,  Georgia,  114 

Alexandria,  Virginia,  48 

Allen,  James  Lane,  264 

Altapass,  North  Carolina,  71 

Andrews'  Fountain,  North  Caro- 
lina, 81 

Anglers'  regulations  in  Florida, 
153 

Annapolis,  Maryland,  42,  48 

Anniston,  Alabama,  189,  194 

Appalachian  Park  Reserve,  North 
Carolina,  70 

Apple  picking  in  the  Valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, 22 

Arkansas,  pronunciation  of  word, 
255 

Arlington,  Virginia,  48 

Asheville,  North  Carolina,  70,  75, 
79,  81 

Ashland,  at  Lexington,  Kentucky, 
269 


"Athens  of  the  South"  (Nash- 
ville), 210 

Atlanta,  Georgia,  98 

Audubon,  John  J.,  235,  238,  244 

Augusta,  Georgia,  102 

Augusta  Springs,  Virginia,  58 

Austin,  Stephen  F.,  249 

Automobile  and  railroad  com- 
pared, 7 

Automobile  races  at  Daytona 
Beach,  Florida,  129 

Automobile  roads :  in  Valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, 21 ;  near  Asheville,  North 
Carolina,  82;  in  interior  of 
Florida,  163;  in  Florida  Na- 
tional Forest,  170;  along  the 
Gulf  Coast,  222;  in  Texas,  253; 
in  Kentucky,  267;  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, 303 

Azilia,  Margravate  of,  112 

Bacon's  Rebellion,  43,  51 
Balcony  Falls,  Virginia,  58 
Ballad   singing   in   the   Kentucky 

Mountains,  276 
Baltimore,     Maryland,     and     the 

National    Road,    35;     and    the 

Baltimore    and    Ohio    Railroad, 

36 ;  the  city,  48,  49 
Bandini,    Father,    and    Tontitown, 

Arkansas,  257 
"  Barbary  Pirates   of   the  West," 

209 

Bardstown,  Kentucky,  263 
Bartram,  William,  112,  116,  151, 

223 

Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana,  237 
Bayou    Pierre,    Mississippi,    225, 

226,  297 

307 


INDEX 


Beach  at  Daytona,  Florida,  129 
Beaufort,  South  Carolina,  92 
Beaumont,  Texas,  243 
Berkeley,    Governor    of    Virginia, 

45 

"  Beat  Friend  "  locomotive,  90 
Bethabara,  North  Carolina,  64 
Bethania,  North  Carolina,  64 
Big  fish  in  Florida,  154,  155 
Biloxi,  Mississippi,  222 
Bimini  Bay  Rod  and  Gun  Club,  153 
Bird  Reservations:    Mosquito   In- 
let, Florida,  131;  Breton  Island, 

Mississippi,  222 
Birmingham,  Alabama,  194 
Biscayne  Bay,  Florida,  143 
Blennerhassett,       Herman,       and 

Aaron  Burr,  295 
Blennerhassett,       Mrs.       Herman, 

295-297 
Blennerhassett  Island,  in  the  Ohio, 

293 

Blowing  Rock,  North  Carolina,  72 
Blue  Grass  Region,  Kentucky,  267 
Blue  Spring,  Albany,  Georgia,  114 
Bonaventure  Cemetery,  Savannah, 

106 
Boom:   in  Birmingham,  Alabama, 

199;    in,    St.   Josephs,    Florida, 

171;  in  St.  Stephens,  Alabama, 

181 

Boone,  Daniel,  218,  273,  275,  288 
Boonesboro,  Kentucky,  268 
Boone's  Burrow,  Kentucky,  268 
Boone's  Wilderness  Road,  70,  210, 

274 
Boundaries,  curious,  of  states,  18, 

42,  261,  299;  of  counties,  213 
Brandon,  Virginia,  52 
Breton    Island    Bird   Reservation, 

Mississippi,  222 
Brown,  George,  and  the  Baltimore 

and  Ohio  Railroad,  36 
308 


Brown,  John,  at  Harper's  Ferry, 

20 

Brunswick,  Georgia,  113 
Bruton  Parish   Church,   Virginia, 

51 

Bryan,  William  Jennings,  145 
Buffalo  Bayou,  Texas,  244 
Burr,  Aaron,  86,  224,  295-297 
Burr,  Theodosia  (Allston),  86,  296 
Butler,    General,    and   the   Dutch 

Gap  Canal,  52 
Buzzard  Roost,  West  Virginia,  290 

Cable,  George  W.,  222 

Camphor   Plantation    in   Florida, 

135 

Camping  in  West  Virginia  moun- 
tains, 287 

Canals:  Chesapeake  and  Ohio,  17, 
35,  37,  38;    "  Patowmack,"   34; 
Dutch  Gap,  Virginia,  52;  James 
River,    53;     James    River    and 
Kanawha   Canal   and  Railroad, 
54,      171,     288;      Santec,     90; 
Suwanee,  117;   Drainage  canals 
through  the  Everglades,  149 ;  St. 
Marks,  Florida,   172;    in  North 
Alabama,  188;   Vicksburg,  Mis- 
sissippi, 225;    Industrial  Canal 
at  New  Orleans,  230 
Canoeing  on  Lumbee  River,  89 
Cape  Charles,  Virginia,  45 
Cape  Fear,  North  Carolina,  88 
Cape  Henry,  Virginia,  45 
Cape  Sable,  Florida,  156,  164 
Capital,   hunting  the  site   of:    in 

Florida,  172;  in  Texas,  249 
Capital,    removing    the:    in    Ala- 
bama,   191;    in   Texas,   249;    in 
West  Virginia,  303 
Capitol    at    Richmond,    Virginia, 
planned  by  Thomas  Jefferson,  53 


INDEX 


Carnivals:    Gasparilla   Krewe,   at 
Tampa,     Florida,     158;     Mardi 
Gras  at  New  Orleans,  232 
Carter's  Grove,  Virginia,  52 
Cartersville,  Virginia,  55 
Catawba  River,  North  Carolina,  61 
Caverns:  Luray,  23,  24;  Saltpetre, 
33;  Nicajac,  208;  Wonder,  213; 
Mammoth  Cave  and  its  neigh- 
bors, 265,  266 ;  Where  Boone  hid 
from  the  Indians,  273 
Cedar  Creek,  Virginia,  30 
Cemeteries:  in  Savannah,  106;  in 
New  Orleans,  234;  National,  205, 
214,  226,  259;   Confederate,  19, 
259 

Charleston,  South  Carolina,  90,  91 
Charleston,  West  Virginia,  20,  288, 

290,  303 
Charles  Town,  West  Virginia,  20, 

21 

Charlotte,  North  Carolina,  65 
Charlottesville,  Virginia,  30 
Chattanooga,  Tenn.,  208,  212,  214 
Cheat  River  difficulties,  281 
Cherokees,  last  stand  of,  in  North 

Carolina,  74;  removal  of,  96 
Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal,  17,  35, 

37,  38 

Chesapeake  Bay,  42,  43,  50 
Chickamauga  Battlefield,  Georgia, 

214 

Chimneys,  The,  North  Carolina,  73 
Chincoteague,  Virginia,  43 
Churches,      old,      in      Charleston, 

South  Carolina,  91 
Circular    Counties    of    Tennessee, 

213 

Civil  War,  places  named  in  connec- 
tion with:  Antietam,  19;  Valley 
of  Virginia,  Winchester,  Vir- 
ginia, 22;  New  Market,  Vir- 
ginia, 22;  Jamestown,  Virginia, 


51;  Dutch  Gap  Canal,  52;  Oke- 
finokee  Swamp,  115;  Mobile, 
Alabama,  179;  Chattahoochee 
River,  Alabama,  190;  Selma, 
Alabama,  192;  Shiloh,  Tennes- 
see, 205;  Muscle  Shoals,  Ala- 
bama, 206,  207;  Chickamauga, 
Georgia,  214;  Missionary  Ridge, 
Tennessee,  214;  Vicksburg,  Mis- 
sissippi, 226;  Hinton,  West 
Virginia,  286;  the  beginnings  of 
West  Virginia,  302 
Clark,  George  Rogers,  54,  284 
Clarksburg,  West  Virginia,  284, 

303 

Clay,  Henry,  31,  35,  269,  270,  304 
Cleveland,  Grover,  152 
Coal  mines,  early :  in  Virginia,  54 ; 

discovered  in  Alabama,  198 
Coast  of  West  Florida,  intricate, 

160 

Cobb,  Ann,  ballad  by,  276 
Cocoanut  Grove,  Florida,  146 
Co-co-lo-bo  Cay  Club,  154 
Colossal  Cavern,  Kentucky,  265 
Columbia,  South  Carolina,  90 
Columbus,  Georgia,  111 
Confederacy,    Birthplace    of,    the, 

191 

Confederate    Cemeteries :     Sharps- 
burg,  Maryland,  19;  Little  Rock, 
Arkansas,  259 
Cornwallis,  Lord,  46,  62,  65 
Corpus  Christi,  Texas,  248 
Cotton  gin,  invention  of,  104 
Cotton   mills   in    North    Carolina, 

61,  66,  93 
Court  Day  in  Lexington,  Kentucky, 

270 

Covington,  Kentucky,  267 
Croatan  Indian  Reservation,  89 
Cumberland,  Maryland,  35,  37 
Cumberland  Falls,  Kentucky,  273 

309 


INDEX 


Cumberland  Gap,  274 

Curious  boundaries  of  states,   18, 

42,  261,  299;  of  counties,  213 
Currituck  Sound,  North  Carolina, 

85 
Custis,  George  Washington  Parke, 

291 

Dale,  Sir  Thomas,  52 

Dallas,  Texas,  250 

Dandridge,  Tennessee,  218 

Danville,  Kentucky,  273 

Danville,  Virginia,  62 

Dare,  Virginia,  first  English  child 

born  in  America,  87 
Davis,  Jefferson,  252 
Daytona,  Florida,  128,  129 
D'Arriola,  Don  Andres,  168 
De  Avilez,  Pedro  Menendez,  122 
De  Bienville,  169,  178,  184 
D'Iberville,  178,  224,  229,  232 
De  Luna,  Tristan,  168 
De  Onate,  Juan,  253 
De  Soto,  Hernando,  157,  177,  201, 

257 

Deep  River,  North  Carolina,  61 
Demopolis,  Alabama,   French   set- 
tlement, 184 

Detour  at  Harper's  Ferry,  17;  de- 
tours in  North  Carolina,  61 
Devil's  Elbow,  in  the  Ohio,  300 
Dickens,    Charles:    quoted    as    to 
Washington,   D.    C.,   47;    as   to 
Louisville,  Kentucky,  262 
"Dimple  of  Tennessee,"  213 
Dinner  in  the  Blue  Grass  region  of 

Kentucky,  271 
Dinsmore,  Silas,  181 
Dismal    Swamp,    Great,    Virginia 

and  North  Carolina,  84 
Dixie  Highway,  147,  267 
Donelson,  Colonel  John,  209 
310 


Donelson,    Rachel    (Mrs.    Andrew 

Jackson),  212 
Douglas,      Jessamine,      Kentucky 

heroine,  272 

Dowdy,  Betsy,  heroism  of,  85 
"  Druid  City,  The,"  186 
Dulcimer,  the,  described,  276 
Dutch  Gap  Canal,  Virginia,  52 

Earthquake  of  1811,  202,  255 
East  Coast  of  Florida,  120-155 
East  Tennessee,  Valley  of,  71 
Eastern   Shore  of   Maryland    and 

Virginia,  42 

Eatonton,  Georgia,  described,  110 
Ebenezer,     Georgia,     silk    culture 

attempted  at,  104 
Edenton,  North  Carolina,  85 
Elkhorn  City,  Kentucky,  70 
El  Paso,  Texas,  253 
Ensley,  Alabama,  195,  200 
Eureka  Springs,  Arkansas,  258 
Everglades,  the,   148 

Fairfax  Stone,  the,  299 

Falls  of  the  Ohio,  261 

Farragut,  Admiral,  179 

Featherstonhaugh,  G.  W.,  quoted, 
240 

Fishing:  at  Mosquito  Inlet  Bird 
Reservation,  Florida,  131;  in 
Florida,  151-154,  158;  on 
Tampa  Bay,  160;  on  Mobile  Bay, 
180;  on  Gulf  Coast,  222;  in 
Texas,  247;  in  Arkansas,  256 

Flagler,  Henry  M.,  134,  143 

Flagler,  Mrs.  Henry  M.,  164 

"  Flagler's  Folly,"  138 

Flatboat  transportation  in  Ala- 
bama, difficulties  of,  190,  208 

Fleming,  Tarleton,  56 

Flomaton  Junction,  Alabama,  early 
railroad  building  at,  168 


INDEX 


Florida  Keys,  building  East  Coast 
Railroad  across,  138-141 

Flute  and  river,  comparison  made 
by  Sidney  Lanier,  108 

Fort  Barrancas,  Pensacola,  Flor- 
ida, 168 

Fort  Marion,  St.  Auguatine, 
Florida,  125,  126 

Fort  Moultrie,  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  91 

Fort  Myers,  Florida,  160 

Fort  Smith,  Arkansas,  258 

Fort  Sumter,  Charleston,  91 

Fort  Worth,  Texas,  250 

Fountain  of  Youth,  St.  Augustine, 
Florida,  125 

Fox,  John,  275 

Frankfort,  Kentucky,  267,  269 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  62 

Franklin,  State  of,  217,  218 

Frederick,  Maryland,  18 

Fredericksburg,  Virginia,  46 

French  settlers  in  Alabama, 
early,  184 

Gadsden,  Alabama,  189 
Galveston,  Texas,  245,  246 
Game:  in  Florida,  152;  in  Louisi- 
ana,  236,   237;    in   Texas,   243, 
247;  in  Arkansas,  258 
Gaps    in    West    Virginia,    along 

Potomac,  279 

Gasparilla,  the  pirate,  158,  160 
Geology  of  the  cave  region  of  Vir- 
ginia,   33;    of    Mammoth    Cave 
region    in    Kentucky,    265;    in 
West  Virginia,  279,  284 
Georgetown,  South  Carolina,  88 
Gethsemane  Abbey,  Kentucky,  264 
Gibsonport,  Mississippi,  297 
Gilmer,   Frank,   and   iron   ore   in 

Alabama,  196 
Glynn,  Marshes  of,  in  Georgia,  113 


Gold,  discovered  in  North  Georgia, 

96;  in  Alabama,  189 
Goold,   William   L.,   and   coal    in 

Alabama,  198 
Gordon,    Captain    Harry,    quoted, 

231 

Grafton,  West  Virginia,  285 
Grant,  General  U.  S.,  28,  206 
Graphite  in  Alabama,  189 
Great  Falls,  Maryland,  34,  38 
Greene,  General  Nathanael,  62 
Greene,    Mrs.    Nathanael,    enter- 
tains Eli  Whitney,  104 
Green eville,  Tennessee,  217 
Green  Cove  Springs,  Florida,  167 
Guilford     Court     House,     North 

Carolina,  62 
Gulf  Coast  resorts,  221 
Gullies  at  Milledgeville,  Georgia, 

111 

Gunston  Hall,  Virginia,  47 
Guntersville,  Alabama,  188,  215 

Hagerstown,  Maryland,  18 

Hall,     Captain     Basil,     explores 

Georgia,  112 

Hampton  Roads,  Virginia,  50 
Hancock,  Maryland,  tunnel  at,  41 
Harpers   Ferry,  Virginia,   17,  20, 

22,  34,  36,  37,  278 
Harris,  Joel  Chandler,  93,  110 
Harrisonburg,  Virginia,  27 
Harrod,  Captain  James,  273 
Harrodsburg,  Kentucky,  273 
Hatteras,  Cape,  85,  86 
Hawk's  Nest,  West  Virginia,  287 
Heights       of       Southern       Appa- 
lachian Mountains,  69 
"  Hell-fer-Sartain "     Creek,     Ken- 
tucky, 275 

Hemans,  Mrs.  Felicia,  quoted,  119 
Hendersonville,    North     Carolina, 
77,  79 

311 


INDEX 


Henrico,  Virginia,  43,  52 
Henry,  Patrick,  53,  55 
Hermitage,  The,  at  Nashville,  211 
Hero  of  the  Howard  College  fire, 

185 

Herrick,  Francis  Hobart,  239 
Hiawassee,  legend  of,  95 
Hickory  Nut  Gap,  69,  78 
High  Bridge,  Kentucky,  272 
Hinton,  West  Virginia,  286 
Hobuckintopa,  Alabama,  180 
Honesty  in  North  Carolina,  79 
Hornaday,  William  T.,  quoted,  236 
"Hornet's  Nest,  The,"  66 
Hospitality,    Southern,    103,    104, 
!    271 

Hot  Springs,  Arkansas,  259 
Hot  Springs  of  Virginia  and  West 

Virginia,  59 

Houston,  Sam,  30,  217,  218,  245 
Houston,  Texas,  243 
Hovey,  Horace  C.,  24 
Howells,  William  Dean,  106 
Hueco  Tanks,  Texas,  253 
Huntington,  West  Virginia,  292 
Huntsville,  Alabama,  188 
Hydro-electric  power  development 
in  North   Carolina,   60,   66;    at 
Tallulah  Falls,  Georgia,  95;  at 
Muscle    Shoals,    Alabama,    187, 
206-208;    on   Coosa  and   Talla- 
pooea  in  Alabama,  189;  Tallas- 
see  Falls,  Alabama,  190 

Indians,  adventures  with,  209,  26? 

Indian  legends  of  the  rivers,  95, 
290 

Indians:  Monacans,  30;  Shawnees, 
30;  Powhatans,  30;  Nassawat- 
tox,  44;  Cherokees,  74,  80,  95, 
96;  Croatans,  89;  Tomo  ChacKi, 
105;  Creeks,  111;  Seminoles, 
116,  120,  142,  150,  152,  158; 
312 


Tuscaloosas,  177 ;  Muscogees, 
190;  on  Tennessee  River,  208 

Ingraham  Highway  in  Florida,  164 

Inside  Waterway,  the,  from  New 
York  to  Miami,  121,  130,  150 

Intercoastal  Canal,  230 

Interdigitation  of  rivers  of  South 
Carolina  and  Georgia,  95. 

Iron  and  Steel  in  Alabama,  189, 
194 

Iron  and  steel  furnaces  in  Vir- 
ginia, 54;  in  Alabama,  194 

Iron  works,  first  in  Alabama,  187 

Jackson,  Andrew,  70,  211 
Jackson,  Mrs.  Andrew,  212 
Jackson,  Mississippi,  226 
Jackson,      General     Thomas     J. 

(Stonewall),  27,  28,  54,  284 
Jacksonville,  Florida,  114,  120 
James  River  Canal,  53 
James  Town,  Virginia,  43,  51,  52 
Jamestown  Island,  Virginia,  50 
Jefferson,  Peter,  55,  57 
Jefferson,  Thomas,  20,  21,  30,  35, 

51,  53,  55,  56,  57,  58,  261,  296 
Jefferson's  Rock,  20 
Jenings,   Jonathan,   adventure  of, 

with  Indiana,  209 
Johnson  City,  Tennessee,  70 
Johnston,  General  Albert  Sidney, 

206 

Johnston,  General  Joseph  E.,  252 
Jonesboro,  Tennessee,  218 

Kanawha  Falls,  West  Virginia, 
287 

Kanawha,  State  of,  303 

Keats,  George,  262 

Keats,  John,  262 

Kenmore,  Fredericksburg,  Vir- 
ginia, 46 

Kenova,  West  Virginia,  54,  292 


INDEX 


Kerrville,  Texas,  251 

Key  West,  Florida,  121,  137,  141 

King,  William  Rufus,  192 

King's  Mountain,  Battle  of,  66,  219 

Kingston,  Tennessee,  216 

Kitty  Hawk,  North  Carolina,  86 

Knoxville,  Tennessee,  216 

Konnahecta,  Vale  of,  76 

Lafltte,  Jean,  245 
Lake  Charles,  Louisiana,  241 
Lake  Drummond,  Virginia,  84 
Lake  Worth,  Florida,  135 
Lakes  of  interior  Florida,  163,  166 
Lanier,  Sidney,  98,  108,  110,  113 
La  Salle,  Sieur  de,  245,  247 
Leaning  Rock,  North  Carolina,  72 
Lee,  Light  Horse  Harry,  21,  46 
Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  19,  28,  46, 

65,  252 

Lee,  Colonel  Thomas,  46 
Legend  of  the  origin  of  Elk  River, 

West  Virginia,  290 
Legend  of  Nacoochee,  97 
Lewis,    Betty,    sister    of    George 

Washington,  46 
Lexington,  Kentucky,  268 
Lexington,  Virginia,  27 
Little  Rock,  Arkansas,  257,  259 
Llano  Estacado,  Texas,  251 
Locomotives,   early:    Best  Friend, 

90;  Western  Star,  270 
Louisville,  Kentucky,  261 
Lumbee  River,  canoeing  on,  89 
Luray  Caverns,  Virginia,  23 
Lyell,  Charles,  travels  in  America 

quoted,  103,  111 
Lyman,  Captain  Thaddeus,  225 
Lyman  Mandamus,  225 
Lynchburg,  Virginia,  54 

McClellan,  General  George  B.,  19 
McConnell,    Alexander,    adventure 
with  Indian,  268 


McKinney,   John,   and   a  wildcat, 
269 

McMinnville,  Tennessee,  213 

Macon,  Georgia,  108,  110 

"Madeline"  and  Aaron  Burr,  224 

Madison,  Dolly,  48 

Madison,  James,  21 

Mammoth,  relics  of,  223 

Mammoth  Cave,  Kentucky,  265 

Mansions:  Harewood,  Charles 
Town,  West  Virginia,  21;  Mor- 
dington,  Charles  Town,  West 
Virginia,  21 ;  Shadwell,  Virginia, 
30;  Moore  House  and  Nelson 
House,  Yorktown,  Virginia,  46; 
Kenmore  and  Fredericksburg, 
Virginia,  46;  Stratford,  Vir- 
ginia, 46;  Mount  Vernon,  Vir- 
ginia, 46;  Gunston  Hall,  Vir- 
ginia, 47;  Octagon  House, 
Washington,  D.  C.,  48;  Carter's 
Grove,  Virginia,  52;  Brandon, 
Virginia,  52;  Shirley,  Virginia, 
52;  Westover,  Virginia,  52;  in 
Richmond,  Virginia,  53;  Tucka- 
hoe,  Virginia,  55;  Oakland,  Vir- 
ginia, 55;  Monticello,  Virginia, 
56;  in  Charleston,  South  Caro- 
lina, 91;  Turn  wold,  Georgia, 
111;  The  Hermitage  at  Nash- 
ville, Tennessee,  211;  Oakley, 
Louisiana,  238;  Ashland,  Lex- 
ington, Kentucky,  269;  Blenner- 
hassett's,  294 
Manufacturer's  Record,  quoted, 

134,  140 

Marble  of  Alabama,  story  of,  176 
Mardi  Gras  at  New  Orleans,  232 
Marion,  General  Francis,  90 
Marriage     formula     of     Captain 

Shaumberg,  193 

Marshall,   the,    last   of   the   canal 
packets,  54 

313 


INDEX 


Martinsburg,  West  Virginia,  303 
Mason,  George,  47 
Massanutten,  Mount,  road  over,  23 
Massanutten  National  Forest,  23 
Matagorda  Island,  Texas,  247 
Meanderings    of    the    Mississippi, 

238,  261 

Mecklenburg,  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, 65 

Memphis,  Tennessee,  201 
Miami  Anglers'  Club,  153 
Miami  Beach,  Florida,  146 
Miami,  Florida,  136,  137,  142 
Milledgeville,  Georgia,  111 
Mills,  Enos  A.,  quoted,  228 
Milner,  John  T.,  has  vision  of  Bir- 
mingham, 196 ;  builds  a  railroad, 
197 
Minorcans      at      New      Smyrna, 

Florida,  132 

Missionary  Badge,  Tennessee,  214 
Missions,  Spanish,  in  Texas,  248 
Mississippi,  mouths  of  the,  228 
Mitchell,  Elisha,  83 
Mobile,  Alabama,  175 
Moccasin  Bend,  on  Tennessee  River, 

214 

Monroe,  Fort,  Virginia,  45 
Monroe,  James,  51 
Montgomery,  Alabama,  191 
"  Monticello,  Sage  of,"  33,  57 
Monticello,     Virginia,     home     of 

Thomas  Jefferson,  56 
Moore  House,  Yorktown,  Virginia, 

46 
Moore's   Creek,   "  first   victory   of 

Revolution,"  87 
Moravians  in  North  Carolina,  63, 

64 
Mordington,   Charles  Town,  West 

Virginia,  21 
Morgan,  Morgans,  278 
314 


Morgantown,  West  Virginia,  280, 

283 
Mosquito  Inlet  Bird  Reservation, 

Florida,  131 

Mosquito  Inlet  Light,  Florida,  131 

Motor    Boating    on    Santa    Rosa 

Sound,  170;  on  Mobile  Bay,  180 

Mound-builders  in  Alabama,   186, 

192;  in  West  Virginia,  300 
Moundsville,  West  Virginia,  300 
Mountains:  Blue  Ridge,  17,  68,  71 ; 
Massanutten,  23 ;  Peaks  of  Otter, 
31 ;  Apple  Orchard,  58 ;  Thunder 
Hill,  58;  Unakas,  68,  215,  217; 
Great  Smoky,  68,  73,  218;  Bal- 
sam   69,     74;    Roan,    69,     71; 
Grandfather,  69,  71,  72;  Clinch, 
70,  218;  Pilot  Mountain,  71 ;  Old 
Humpback,  71;   Dunvegan,  72; 
Tryon,  72 ;  Clingman's  Dome,  74 ; 
Bald,  74;  Cowie,  74;  Nantahala, 
74;  the  Balds,  76;  Richland  Bal- 
sams, 76 ;  Toxaway,  77 ;  Mitchell, 
77;  Old  Whitesides,  77;  Rabun, 
77;   Looking  Glass,   78;    Black, 
80;    Balsam    Cone,    81;    Black 
Brothers,   81;    Celo,   81;    Kitta- 
zuma,  81;  Yonah,  97;   Cumber- 
land,  208;    Lookout,   208,   214; 
Holston,  219;   Guadalupe  Peak, 
242 ;  Ozarks,  256,  258 ;  Arkansas, 
258;   King's  Mountain,  273;  of 
West  Virginia,  284 
Mount  Vernon,  Virginia,  46 
Mouths  of  the  Mississippi,  228 
Muir,  John,  102,  106,  220,  264,  265 
Munroe,  Bark,  146 
Murfreesboro,  Tennessee,  213 
Muscle  Shoals,  Alabama,  187,  206 

Nacoochee,  legend  of,  97 
Narvaez,  Pamfilo  de,  168 


INDEX 


Nashborough  (Nashville),  Tennes- 
see, 210 

Natchez,  Mississippi,  223 

Natchez  Trace,  pioneer  road,  226 

National  Cemeteries:  at  Shiloh, 
Tennessee,  205;  at  Chattanooga, 
Tennessee,  214;  at  Little  Rock, 
Arkansas,  259 

National  Forests :  Massanutten, 
23;  Shenandoah,  26;  Natural 
Bridge,  58;  Boone,  70;  Mount 
Mitchell,  70,  82;  Nantahala,  70; 
Pisgah,  70,  78,  82;  Florida,  169; 
in  Lawrence  County,  Alabama, 
186 

National  Parks:  Hot  Springs,  Ar- 
kansas, 259;  proposed,  Luray 
Caverns,  Virginia,  24;  Natural 
Bridge,  Virginia,  31 ;  Springs  of 
Virginia,  59;  Paradise  Key, 
Florida,  164;  Mammoth  Cave, 
Kentucky,  266 

National  Road,  35,  39,  304 

Natural  Bridge,  Virginia,  29,  33, 
57 

Natural  Bridge  at  Lost  Cove,  Ten- 
nessee, 214 

Natural  Bridge  National  Forest, 
58 

Natural  gas  in  West  Virginia,  289 

Nelson  House,  Yorktown,  Virginia, 
46 

New  Martinsville,  West  Virginia, 
300 

New  Orleans,  229 

New  River  Canyon,  West  Virginia, 
286 

New  Smyrna,  Florida,  132 

Newport  News,  Virginia,  45 

"Niagara  of  the  South"  (Muscle 
Shoals,  Alabama),  208 

Nicajac  Cave,  on  the  Tennessee 
River,  208 


Nicajac  Trail,  213 

Night  in  Florida,  128 

Nitrate  Plants  at  Muscle  Shoals> 
Alabama,  207 

Norfolk,  Virginia,  45 

Northwestern  Turnpike  in  Vir- 
ginia, 279 

Novel  reading  tabooed,  205 

Nuttall,  Thomas,  quoted,  258 

Oakland,  Maryland,  280 

Oakland,  Virginia,  home  of  Robert 
E.  Lee,  55 

Oakley,  at  St.  Francisville,  Louisi- 
ana, 238 

Octagon  House,  Washington,  48 

Oglethorpe,  General,  and  silk  cul- 
ture, 104 

Oil  in  Texas,  243;  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, 289 

Okeechobee,  Lake,  148 

Okefinokee  Swamp,  115 

Old  Point  Comfort,  Virginia,  43,  45 

Oldest  American  family,  44 

Oldest  house  in  St.  Augustine,  124 

Olive  growing,  experiments  in,  185 

Ormond,  Florida,  135 

Otter,  Peaks  of,  31 

Outlaws  on  Tennessee  River,  208 

Oyster  beds,  Louisiana  gains  title 
to,  221 

Oysters  in  New  Orleans,  233 

Paducah,  Kentucky,  203 
Paint  Rock,  North  Carolina,  73 
Palm  Beach,  Florida,  136 
Panhandle  of  West  Virginia,  299 
Panmure,  Fort,  at  Natchez,  Mis- 
sissippi, 224 
Paradise  Key,  Florida,  beauty  of, 

165,  166 

Parkersburg,  West  Virginia,  285, 
292,  293 

315 


INDEX 


Pasquotank,  North  Carolina,  85 
Pass  Christian,  Mississippi,  222 
Patowmack  Canal  Company,  34 
Patti,  Adelina,  233 
Pensacola,  Florida,  168 
Pharuses,  twin,  in  Florida,  161 
Phosphate  mining  in  Florida,  159 
Pilot  for  Inside  Waterway,    121, 

122 
Pirates:    Gasparilla,    158;    "  Bar- 

bary  Pirates  of  the  West,"  209; 

Jean  Lafitte,  245 
Pirrie,  James,  238 
Pirrie,  Miss,  238 
Pittsburgh     Landing,     Tennessee, 

205 

"Pittsburgh  of  the  South"   (Bir- 
mingham), 192,  194 
Plant,  H.  B.,  157 
Point  Comfort,  Virginia,  44 
Point  of  Rocks,  Maryland,  36 
.Point  Pleasant,  Ohio,  Indian  battle 

at,  291 

Polk,  James  K.,  211 
Ponce  de  Leon,  122,  124,  125,  168 
Pontchartrain,     Lake,     Louisiana, 

236 

Port  Gibson,  Mississippi,  224 
Portsmouth,  Virginia,  45 
Potomac  River,  17,  20,  34,  38,  40, 

46,  278,  279 
Powell,  William,  23 
Powell's  Fort  Valley,  23 
Prehistoric  ruins,  near  Bardstown, 

Kentucky,    263;    at    Lexington, 

Kentucky,  268 

Princess  Anne,  Maryland,  42 
Promontorum  Tremendum,  88 

Rabbit  drive  on  site  of  Birming- 
ham, Alabama,  198 
Rabun  Gap,  Georgia,  94 
316 


Railroad  and  automobile  com- 
pared, 7 

Railroad  building,  early :  at  Floma- 
ton  Junction,  Alabama,  168;  at 
St.  Josephs,  Florida,  171;  at 
Apalachee  Bay,  Florida,  172;  in 
Alabama,  187,  197 

Railroad  difficulties  in  Florida,  162 

Railroads:  Baltimore  and  Ohio,  36, 
280,  285 ;  James  River  Canal  and 
Railroad,  54;  Chesapeake  and 
Ohio,  54,  286;  Southern,  62,  188; 
Carolina,  Clinchfield  and  Ohio, 
70;  Western  North  Caro- 
lina, 70;  Linville  River,  70; 
Mount  Mitchell,  82 ;  South  Caro- 
lina, 90;  Western  and  Atlantic, 
98;  Atlantic  Coast  Line,  117; 
Florida  East  Coast,  134;  Queen 
and  Crescent,  184;  Tuscumbia 
and  Decatur,  187;  Southern 
Pacific,  242;  Louisville  and 
Nashville,  263 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  88,  89 

Randolph,  Thomas,  55 

Randolph,  Thomas  Mann,  55 

Red  River  Raft,  240 

Reelfoot  Lake  District,  Tennessee, 
202 

Regulators  of  the  Alamance,  North 
Carolina,  87 

Resources  of  the  South,  5,  6 

Revolutionary  War,  places  named 
in  connection  with,  23,  43,  48, 
55,  62,  64,  65,  66,  85,  87,  89,  91, 
219;  South's  part  in:  62,  65,  66; 
declaration  of  patriots  in  West 
Virginia,  286 

Richmond,  Virginia,  23,  50,  52,  53 

Rivalry  of  Guntersville,  Alabama, 
and  Chattanooga,  Tennessee,  for 
a  railroad,  215 


INDEX 


Rivers:  Potomac,  17,  18,  19,  20, 
84,  38,  40,  46,  278,  279 ;  Shenan- 
doah,  17,  21,  22,  31,  63,  279; 
James,  30,  43,  50;  Monongahela, 

34,  281;   Cheat,  34,  280;   Ohio, 

35,  54,  209,  300;   Patuxent,  42, 
49;  Rappahannock,  46;  Pataps- 
co.  48;   Choptank,  49;   Nomini, 
49;    Wicomico,    49;    Yiocomico, 
49;    Piankatank,  49;   Appomat- 
tox,  52;  Kanawha,  54,  288;  Yad- 
kin,  61,   72;    Catawba,   61,   80; 
Deep,  61 ;  Dan,  62 ;  Susquehanna, 
63;    Nolichucky,    70;    Doe,    70; 
Linville,70,72;  Watauga,  70,72; 
Holston,  71,  209;  New,  72,  286; 
Peedee,  72;    French  Broad,   73, 
216;  Little  Tennessee,  74;  Tuck- 
aseegee,  74 ;  Nantahala,  74 ;  Tox- 
away,  77;  Swannanoa,  81;  Cape 
Fear,  88;  Lumbee,  88,  89;  San- 
tee,  90;   Edisto,  92;   Savannah, 
92,  94,  101 ;  Combahee,  92;  Chat- 
tahoochee,   93,    111;    Chattooga, 
94;  Oconee,  94,  111;  Keowee,  94; 
Seneca,  94;  Savannah,  94,  105; 
Tugaloo,  94;   Tallulah,  95;   Oc- 
mulgee,    108;    Altamaha,    112; 
Flint,  114;  St.  Mary's,  114;  Ock- 
lockonee,     115;     Withlacoochee, 
115;  Satilla,  115;  St.  Johns,  120, 
135,    167;    River    of    Dolphins, 
122;  Matanzas,  122,  127;  Hali- 
fax,   128;    Miami,    142;    Caloo- 
sahatchee,    149,    153;    Suwanee, 
156;     Manatee,     160;     Miakka, 
160;   Tomoka,   166;   Ocklawaha, 
166;  Silver,  166;  Alabama,  179; 
Tombigbee,  179,  180,  183;  Black 
Warrior,    182,   183;    Tallapoosa, 
183;  Coosa,  183,  189,  190,  191; 
Tennessee,  187,  203;  Mississippi, 
201,  223,  237;  Cumberland,  209, 


273;  Caney  Fork,  213;  Clinch, 
215;  Pelissippi,  215;  Pearl,  221; 
Yazoo,  225;  Red,  239;  Sabine, 
241;  Calcasieu,  241;  Neches, 
243;  Nueces,  248;  Colorado, 
249;  Llano,  251;  Guadalupe, 
251;  Medina,  252;  Pecos,  253; 
Rio  Grande,  253;  Pefiasco,  254; 
Ruidoso,  254;  Little,  256;  St. 
Francis,  256;  Black,  256;  White, 
256;  Green,  264;  Kentucky,  267, 
272;  Tug  Fork,  278,  292;  Big 
Sandy,  278;  Tygart's,  283; 
Greenbrier,  286;  Gauley,  287; 
Elk,  290;  Guyan,  292 

Robertson,  James,  founder  of  Nash- 
ville, Tennessee,  209 

Romney,  West  Virginia,  279 

Roosevelt,  Theodore,  and  houses  on 
the  James,  62;  letter  from  the 
Tensas  River  Country,  Louisi- 
ana, 236;  and  The  Hermitage, 
212 

Rosenberg,  Henry,  246 

"Roughs  of  Tug,"  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, 292 

Roustabouts  on  river  steamer,  204 

Rowan  County,  North  Carolina,  65 

Royal  Palm  State  Park,  Florida, 
164 

Royall,  Mrs.  Annie,  111 

Ruins:  at  New  Smyrna,  Florida, 
133;  at  St.  Stephens,  Alabama, 
182 

Rumaey,  James,  steamboat  of,  19 

St.  Augustine,  Florida,   120,   122, 

123,  133,  134 

St.  Francis  Basin,  Arkansas,  201 
St.  Francisville,  Louisiana,  238 
St.  Helena  Sound,  South  Carolina, 

92 

317 


INDEX 


St.  John's  Church,  Hampton,  Vir- 
ginia, 45 

St.  John's  Church,  Richmond,  Vir- 
ginia, 53 

St.  Josephs,  Florida,  171 

St.  Marks,  Florida,  172 

St.  Petersburg,  Florida,  158 

St.  Stephens,  Alabama,  181 

Salisbury,  Maryland,  42 

Salt  Licks,  in  Tennessee,  210;   in 
West  Virginia,  289 

San  Antonio,  Texas,  248 

San  Antonio  Trail,  249 

Sanford,  Florida,  167 

Santa  Rosa  Sound  by  Motor  Boat, 
170 

Sapphire  Country,  the,  68 

Savage,     "  the     oldest     American 
family,"  44 

Sea  Island  Cotton,  92 

Sea  Islands,  South  Carolina,  92 

Seabreeze,  Florida,  128,  129 

Selma,  Alabama,  192 

Seneca  Falls,  Maryland,  34 

Sewanee,  Tennessee,  213 

Shades  Mountain  at  Birmingham, 
195 

Shadwell,  Virginia,  home  of  Jef- 
ferson, 30 

Shaumberg,  Captain,  and  his  mar- 
riage formula,  193 

Sheffield,  Alabama,  194 

Shenandoah  Falls,  Virginia,  34 

Shenandoah  National  Forest,  26 

Shepherdstown,  West  Virginia,  19 

Shirley,  Virginia,  52 

Shreve,     Captain,    and    the    Red 
River  raft,  241 

Shreveport,  Louisiana,  241 

Skinner,  General  William,  85 

Smith,  Captain  John,  45 

Soco    Indian    Reservation,    North 
Carolina,  75 
318 


South,  resources  of:  5,  6 

Spangenburg,  Bishop,  63 

Sparbanburg,  South  Carolina,  93, 
94 

Sponge  fishermen  of  Florida,  159 

Springs:  of  Virginia  and  West 
Virginia,  59;  at  Albany, 
Georgia,  114;  near  Florida  line, 
114;  at  Stomawa,  Florida,  158; 
Silver  Springs,  Florida,  167; 
Chipola  Spring,  Florida,  173; 
Wakulla,  Florida,  174;  Seven 
Hundred,  Texas,  251 ;  Mammoth, 
Arkansas,  255;  Hot  Springs, 
Arkansas,  259 ;  Webster  Springs, 
West  Virginia,  290 

Stamp  Act  annulled  in  North  Caro- 
lina, 88 

"Star-Spangled  Banner,"  186 

Staunton,  Virginia,  22,  27,  29 

Steamboat,  early,  on  Potomac,  19; 
trials  in  Kentucky,  269 

Stratford,  Virginia,  46 

Sugar  cane  in  Florida,1  150;  in 
Louisiana,  237 

Sunken  Lands  of  Arkansas,  255 

Swannanoa  Gap,  80 

Sycamore  Shoals,  Tennessee,  219 

Taft,  William  Howard,  quoted,  66 
Tallahassee,  Florida,  173 
Tallulah  Falls,  Georgia,  94 
Tamiami  Trail,  160,  164 
Tampa,  Florida,  157 
Tarpon  fishing,  in  Florida,  153 
Taxation  protests  against,  44,  64, 

86,  87;  primitive  payments,  217 
Taylor,  Alf  and  Bob,  71 
Taylor,  Bayard,  265 
Tennessee  Coal  and  Iron  Company, 

200 
Texas,  size  of,  242 


INDEX 


Thanet,  Octave  (Alice  French) 
quoted,  256 

Thomas,  Philip,  and  the  Baltimore 
and  Ohio  Railroad,  36 

Thompson,  Captain  Charles,  and 
his  big  fish,  155 

Tidewater,  Virginia,  46 

Toccoa  Falls,  Georgia,  95 

Todd,  Dorothy,  21 

Tomo  Chachi,  King  of  Yamacraw, 
105 

Toxaway,  Lake,  North  Carolina,  77 

Treason  of  Aaron  Burr,  296 

Tropical  Vegetation:  at  Daytona, 
Florida,  130;  at  Cocoanut  Grove, 
Florida,  145;  in  the  Everglades, 
150;  Royal  Palm  State  Park, 
164;  on  Ocklawaha  River,  166 

Tryon,  Governor  of  North  Caro- 
lina, 64,  87 

Tsali,  Cherokee  brave,  story  of,  75 

Tulane,  Paul,  234 

Tulane  University,  234 

Tullahoma,  Tennessee,  213 

Tunnel-building  on  the  Baltimore 
and  Ohio  Railroad,  285 

Turnbull,  Doctor,  at  New  Smyrna, 
Florida,  133 

Tuscaloosa,  Alabama,  186 

Tyler,  John,  51 

University  of  the  South,  213 
University  of  Virginia,  57 
University  of  West  Virginia,  283 

Valley  of  Virginia,  21,  22,  71 
Vicksburg,  Mississippi,  225 
Virginia,  South  (North  Carolina), 

84 
Virginia,  Valley  of,  21,  22,  71 

Wachovia,  North  Carolina,  63 

Waco,  Texas,  250 

Waldens'  Ridge,  Tennessee,  216 


War  of  1812  referred  to,  33,  48,  236 

Washington  and  Lee  University, 
Lexington,  Virginia,  28 

Washington  College,  Lexington, 
Virginia,  28,  56 

Washington,  D.  C.,  36,  47 

Washington,  George:  purchases 
land  at  Harpers  Ferry,  20;  and 
Powell's  Fort  Valley,  23;  at 
Natural  Bridge,  34;  and  routes 
to  the  West,  34;  and  the  Na- 
tional Road,  35 ;  home  of  mother 
of,  46;  home  and  haunts  of,  46, 
47 ;  and  Richmond,  Virginia,  53 ; 
in  West  Virginia,  280,  282,  293; 
Indian  prophecy  concerning,  291 

Washington,  Mrs.  Martha  Dan- 
dridge,  218 

Washington  Monument,  Alabama 
marble  in  the,  177 

Watauga,  settlement,  219 

Waycross,  Georgia,  115 

Wesley,  John,  in  Savannah,  106; 
on  St.  Simon's  Island,  113 

West,  Edward,  early  steamboat 
navigator  in  Kentucky,  269 

West  Coast  of  Florida,  156 

"  Western  Star,"  early  locomotive, 
270 

Westover,  Virginia,  52 

West  Virginia,  beginnings  of,  302 

Wheeling,  West  Virginia,  35,  292, 
302,  303 

Whitefield,  George,  in  Savannah, 
106 

Whitney,  Eli,  and  the  cotton  gin, 
104 

William  and  Mary  College,  Vir- 
ginia, 51 

Williamsburg,  Virginia,  30,  51,  85 

Wilmington,  North  Carolina,  87, 
88 

Winchester,  Virginia,  22 

319 


INDEX 

Winston-Salem,     North     Carolina,  "  Wren's  Nest,  The,"  Memorial  to 

63,  64  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  100 

Winyah  Bay,  South  Carolina,  88  Wyeth,  John  Allen,  quoted,  215 
Wirt,  William,  quoted,  52,  296 

Women,   patriotic,   in   Revolution,  Yadkin  River,  North  Carolina,  61 

65,  86 ;   and  Royal  Palm  State  Yonahlossee  Road,  North  Carolina, 

Park,  164  j  and  The  Hermitage,  72 

212  Yorktown,  Virginia,  43,  46 


320 


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